BY  COPYRIGHT  ARRANGEMENTWITH  THE  AUTHOR: 

F.    Spielhagen's    Complete    Works. 

Translated  from  the  German. 

JUST    PUBLISHED. 

PROBLEMATIC    CHARACTERS. 

A  Novel.    Translated  by  Prof.  SCHK.E  .E  VKKB.      12^^o.    Cloth.    S'^m 

II. 

THROUGH  NIGHT  TO   LIGHT. 

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Through    Night 


TO     L  I  G  1 1  T 


A  Novel 


FRIEDRICH     SPIELHAGEN 


A  uthurs  Edilion. 


0^>'    0? 


NKW    YORK 
X  E  Y  P  O  L  D  T    &    li  O  L  T 

1870 


THR 


^^ 


TJSI7ERSIT7 


Through  Night  To  Light 

A  NOVEL 

BY 

FRIEDRICH   SPIELHAGEN 

FROM  THE  GERMAN 

BY 

PROF.  SCHELE   DE   VERE 
Author's  Edition. 


'  Ex  fiimo  dare  lucem  cogltat." 

Horace. 


NEW   YORK 

LEYPOLDT    &    HOLT 

1870 


4-1 


oSiL 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

LEYPOLDT    &    HOLT, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED  BY 

DENNIS   BRO'S  &   THORNE, 

AUBURN,  N.  Y. 


w 


Through^^T^ht  TO  Light. 


Part      First. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  sun  hung  glaring  red  near  the  horizon.  In 
the  valleys  of  the  mountain  ranges  dark-blue 
shadows  were  gathering,  while  high  on  the  for- 
est-crowned tops  the  warm  evening  light  was  still 
aglow.  The  trees  were  gorgeous  in  their  gay  autumn 
liverv,  but  in  this  part  of  the  mountain  dark  forests  of 
sombre  evergreens  covered  the  narrow  ravines  up  and 
down,  and  all  the  swelling  heights. 

On  the  turnpike  which  led  in  manifold  windings 
towards  the  main  ridge  of  the  mountains,  and  was  lined 
on  both  sides  with  unbroken  rows  of  dwarf  fruit-trees,  an 
old-fashioned  carriage  was  slowly  making  its  way.  It 
Avas  one  of  those  broad  but  clumsy  vehicles,  drawn  by 
two  raw-boned,  broken-kneed  horses,  and  carefully  pro- 
vided with  a  huge  drag-chain,  which  are  hired  in  the 
cities  for  a  few  days'  excursion  into  the  mountains. 
The  horses  lagged,  with  drooping  heads,  heavily  in  their 
liArness,  and  labored  painfully  step  by  step  up  the  hill, 
for  the  road  was  steep  and  the  carriage  heavy.  The 
driver  encouraged  them  from  time  to  time  with  a  friendly 
Gee,  bay  !  up,  sorrel !  as  he  Avalked  slowly  by  their  side, 
and  the  two  gentlemen  wdio  had  employed  him  for  some 
days  had  gotten  out  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  and 
were  leisurely  following  at  some  distance  behind  him. 

They  were  a  couple  of  young  men,  evidently  belong- 
ing to  the  best  classes  of  society,  that  is,  to  the  middle 
classes,  in  which  intelligence  and  culture  are  now^adays 
almost  exclusively  found.  They  were  both  tall  and 
showed  the  slight  build  and  the  elasticity  belonging  to 
their  years.  One,  the  smaller  one,  whose  mouth  and 
cheeks  were  nearly  hid  under  a  close,  deep-black  beard, 


2  Through  Night  to  Light. 

would  probably  have  been  thought  the  more  interesting 
of  the  two,  as  his  finely-cut  features,  full  of  intelligence, 
Avere  sure  to  please  the  more  careful  observer,  and  yet 
he  was  neither  as  tall  nor  as  handsome  as  his  companion, 
who  at  once  attracted  the  eyes  of  all  fair  maidens  and 
married  women  in  the  towns  and  villages  through  Avhich 
they  had  passed. 

The  two  young  men  had  for  a  time  walked  on  m  silence, 
separated  as  they  were  by  the  whole  breadth  of  the  turn- 
pike, which  was  here  covered  with  small  broken  stones, 
to  the  despair  of  horses  and  foot-passengers.  Now, 
when  they  had  passed  the  bad  places,  they  approached 
each  other  again,  and  the  one  with  the  black  beard  put 
his  hand  in  a  kindly  manner  on  the  other's  shoulder  and 
said  affectionately:  ''Eh  /i/>;/,  Oswald,  why  so  silent?" 
"  I  return  your  question,"  replied  the  latter,  turning 
his  beautiful,  earnest  eyes  towards  his  companion. 

"  I  enjoy  in  full  draughts  the  glory  of  this  evening's  land- 
scape," said  Doctor  Braun;  "and  enjoyment,  you  know, 
is  silent,  because  the  very  pleasure  is  business  enough, 
and  leaves  us  no  leisure  for  talking.  But  tell  me,  is  it 
not  a  wonderful  country,  this  Thuringia?  Is  it  not 
worthy  to  be  the  heart  of  Germany,  and  thus  the  heart  of 
the  heart  of  our  continent,  in  fact  of  the  inhabited  globe } 
Stop  a  moment  where  vou  are  ;  we  have  just  here  a  view 
which  would  be  unique  if  there  were  not  thousands  and 
thousands  like  it  in  these  lovely  mountains.  There  is 
the  valley,  which  we  have  just  left !  you  can  now  follow 
easily  the  meandering  course  of  the  willow-fringed  brook 
through  the  meadows.  There  is  the  village,  a  dirty 
place  when  seen  near  by,  but  now  how  beautiful  it  is, 
half  veiled  by  its  gay  cloak  of  trees,  and  the  blue  col- 
umns of  smoke,  which  rise  straight  up  from  the  chim- 
neys, and  gradually  dissolve  on  the  sides  of  the  moun- 
tains into  blue,  transparent  clouds.  And  now  these 
beautiful  heights  with  their  evergreens !  how  they  rise 
one  behind  the  other  with  their  deep  coloring.  And 
now,  here  to  our  left,  the  glimpse  of  the  blue  mountains 
which  we  crossed  this  morning.  And,  above  all,  this 
marvellously  fair  sky,  clear  and  deep  and  unfathomable, 
like  the  eye  of  some  one  we  love.     Oh,  there  is  some- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  3 

thing  divine  in  these  outlines  and  these  lights.  They 
are  surely  intended  to  be  more  than  a  mere  pleasure  for 
the  eye,  or  even  a  study  for  the  painter :  they  are 
meant  to  comfort  us  and  to  admonish  us.  A  glance  at 
the  enchanting  face  of  our  mother  nature  puts  our  wild 
hearts  to  sleep,  makes  us  forget  the  eccentric  character 
of  our  so-called  culture,  brings  vis  back  to  the  first  har- 
mony of  our  soul,  and  awakens  and  revives  in  us  the 
conviction  that  everything  true,  beautiful,  and  noble,  is 
infinitely  simple,  and  that  the  well  of  contentment  gushes 
forth  at  the  bidding  of  every  one  who  seeks  it  with 
pure  heart." 

While  Doctor  Braun  had  spoken  these  words  in  his 
ixsual  animated  and  impressive  manner,  Oswald  had 
looked  with  sad  eyes  into  the  far  distance.  Now,  when 
his  companion  ceased,  he  said — an  ironical  smile  play- 
ing around  his  lips — 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  that .?  And  suppose  it  were  so, 
who  will  blame  the  unfortunate  man  whose  heart  is  not 
pure,  Avho  is  cursed  with  blindness,  and  never  sees  the 
well  of  contentment.''  We  shall  meet  one  of  these  unfor- 
tunate men  to-night.  If  you  will  open  his  closed  eyes 
and  restore  to  him  the  purity  of  his  heart,  I  will  worship 
you  as  a  god." 

Doctor  Braun  seemed  to  be  much  affected  by  these 
w^ords,  which  had  towards  the  end  assumed  a  passionate 
tone  of  bitterness.  He  w^as  silent  for  a  few  moments 
Avhile  they  ascended  the  mountain,  and  then  he  said, 

"  I  thought  the  journey  would  have  calmed  you  and 
made  you  more  cheerful,  Oswald.  I  begin  to  doubt  my 
professional  skill  when  I  see  that  the  old  dreams  are 
as  powerful  as  ever  in  you.  You  seemed  to  be  almost 
cured  of  the  fatal  desire  to  sit  dowm,  like  Heine's  young 
man,  by  the  sea  coast,  and  to  ask  the  restless  waves  for 
an  answ^er  to  the  painful  old  riddles  of  life,  and  now " 

"  Now  I  am  once  more  bored  with  the  old  complaint ! 
No,  Franz,  I  will  not  bring  disgrace  upon  your  mental 
cure  and  try  to  find  the  world  as  beautiful  and  reason- 
able as  you  do.  That  was  only  a  recollection  of  the  past. 
Is  it  not  natural,  is  it  not  quite  intelligible,  that  it  should 
turn  up  just  now,  when  we  approach  the  end  of  our  pil- 


4  Through  Night  to  Light. 

grimage,  and  I  am  about  once  more  to  meet  face  to  face 
the  noble,  unfortunate  man  to  whom  I  owe  so  much, 
and  that  after  an  interval  during  which  so  mvich,  so 
very  much,  has  changed  for  him  and  for  myself!  I  have 
followed  your  advice  faithfully,  as  well  as  I  could.  I 
have  let  the  past  bury  the  past ;  I  have  practised  indus- 
triously the  art  of  forgetting,  and  I  have  sent  the  very 
shadows  of  the  departed  back  to  Hades,  when  they 
became  troublesome.  But  here  comes  the  form  of  a  liv- 
ing man  who  is  dead,  of  a  dead  man  who  still  lives,  and 
I  find  neither  in  my  mind  nor  in  my  heart  the  magic 
words  which  will  lay  this  spirit,  whom  I  reverence,  whom 
I  mourn  with  tears,  like  the  others." 

"  Then  let  us  turn  back,"  said  Doctor  Braun,  Avith 
great  vivacity.  "  If  you  do  not  feel  the  strength  in  you 
to  maintain  the  position  which  you  have  yourself  chosen, 
against  every  objection  and  every  authority,  it  would  be 
madness  to  expose  yourself  to  such  danger.  Let  us 
turn  back  ;  it  is  time  yet." 

"  No,"  said  Oswald,  "  that  would  be  both  cowardly 
and  foolish.  We  do  not  overcome  danger  by  avoiding  it. 
I  must  see  Berger  and  speak  to  him.  This  interview 
must  be  the  test  of  the  problem  that  has  occupied  us 
these  four  weeks.  Either  I  recover  myself  from  my  own 
insanity  by  seeing  this  madman,  or " 

*'  There  is  no  or,"  cried  Franz.  "  Really,  when  I  hear 
you  talk  so,  Oswald,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  let  you 
starve  and  thirst  till  you  come  again  to  your  senses,  or 
consent  to  do  honor  to  reason.  You  are  an  enigmatical 
man,  a  thoroughly  problematic  character.  There  are 
incongruities  in  your  character  Avhich  I  have  not  yet 
learnt  to  explain,  in  spite  of  our  long  intimacy.  Nat- 
ural disposition  and  education,  which  jointly  make  the 
man,  must  in  your  case  have  been  most  strangely  inter- 
mingled. I  have  so  far  always  avoided  to  speak  of  your 
early  youth,  because  I  felt  a  natural  reluctance  to  in- 
quire after  what  you  evidently  did  not  care  to  reveal. 
But  my  friendship  for  you  is  greater  than  such  consid- 
erations, which  are  after  all  of  little  account  between 
such  intimate  friends  as  Ave  are.  What  do  you  say, 
Oswald,  while  the  sun  is  gloriously  setting  behind  those 


Through  Night  to  Light.  5 

mountains,  and  our  poor  horses  are  painfully  dragging 
themselves  up  the  hill,  you  might  tell  me  something 
about  your  early  years  —  much  or  little,  as  you  are  dis- 
posed.    Will  you  do  it?  " 

"  Willingly,"  replied  Oswald.  "  I  also  have  been  think- 
ing much  of  my  3-outh  in  these  last  days.  If  one  is  en- 
gaged in  settling  his  affairs,  as  I  am  now  doing,  at  a 
certain  epoch  of  one's  life,  it  is  almost  indispensable  to 
trace  that  life  back  to  the  beginning.  It  is  true  you  are 
the  first  man,  and  perhaps  the  only  one,  Avhom  I  could 
permit  to  look  into  those  dark  portions  of  my  existence ; 
but  I  will  do  it." 

"  I  shall  be  all  the  more  attentive,"  replied  Doctor 
Braun. 


CHAPTER    II. 

*' ^T~^0  begin  at  the  beginning,"  said  Oswald,  after  a 
X  pause,  during  which  he  seemed  to  have  col- 
lected his  thoughts,  "  I  was  born  in  the  capital. 
My  father  was  a  teacher  of  languages,  my  mother  the 
daughter  of  a  mechanic.  You  see,  therefore,  that  I  have 
no  claims  to  nobility,  and  that  my  hatred  against  the 
nobles  is  the  very  natural  and  legitimate  hatred  of  the 
plebeian  against  the  patrician,  of  the  PariaKagainst  the 
Brahmin. 

"  I  have  never  learnt  w^hy  my  father  left  the  capital, 
and  shortly  after  my  birth — I  Avas,  and  remained,  the 
only  child  of  my  parents — he  went  to  live  in  the  little 

Pomeranian  port  W .    It  is  true  I  never  knew  much  of 

the  history  of  my  parents  and  of  all  that  happened  be- 
fore my  birth.  I  do  not  even  know  whether  I  have  any 
relations  on  the  father's  or  the  mother's  side.  If  there 
are  any,  I  have  never  made  their  acquaintance. 

"  My  mother  also  I  only  recollect  dimly,  after  the 
manner  of  a  person  whom  we  have  seen  in  a  dream. 
But  even  now  I  sonietimes  dream  of  a  fair  yovmg  lady, 
with  great,  sweet  blue  eyes.     She  says  in  a  soft  tone 


5  Through  Night  to  Light. 

some  woi"ds  which  I  do  not  understand,  but  which  sound 
like  the  music  of  heaven,  and  always  move  me  to  tears 
even  in  my  sleep.  I  know  that  this  lovely  creature  of 
my  dreams  is  my  mother,  for  she  never  changes.  She 
died  before  I  had  ended  my  fourth  year. 

"  If  ever  man  succeeded  in  replacing  a  mother  to  an 
orphaned,  motherless  child,  my  father  solved  that  prob- 
lem. When  I  was  a  little  child,  he  sang  and  talked  me  to 
sleep ;  when  I  was  sick,  he  watched  day  and  night  by 
the  side  of  my  little  bed  ;  he  sat  by  me  in  the  garret  win- 
dow and  blew  alternately  with  me  bright  soap-bubbles 
from  a  little  clay  pipe  into  the  air ;  he  taught  me  the 
alphabet  and  to  make  ships  from  the  bark  of  trees;  he 
made  me  learn  the  first  Latin  w^ords,  and  taught  me  to 
swim  and  to  skate ;  he  gave  me  the  first  lessons  in  Greek, 
and  in  pistol-shooting  and  fencing.  I  had  no  other 
friend  but  him,  until  I  Avent  to  the  University." 

"He  was  a  strange,  unfathomable  man,  even  so  far  as 
his  outer  appearance  was  concerned.  Imagine  a  figure 
of  dwarfish  size,  but  exceedingly  well  proportioned,  very 
agile  and  active,  dressed  in  winter  and  summer,  early 
and  late,  invariably  in  a  worn-out  black  dress-coat,  black 
shorts,  black  stockings,  and  shoes  with  large  buckles, 
walking  in  sunshine  or  rain,  always  hat  in  hand,  through 
the  streets  of  the  city.  Imagine  this  figure  ending  in  a 
disproportionately  large  head,  with  a  well-set  brow,  bald 
on  the  temples,  beneath  which  a  pair  of  sharp  eyes  sent 
out  flashes  of  lightning,  and  a  face  which,  though  fine 
and  sharp  of  outline,  either  had  never  known  how  to 
laugh  or  forgotten  how  to  do  it  for  long,  long  years. 
This  was  the  figure  of  my  father,  the  Old  Candidate,  as 

he  was  called  in  W by  everybody,  even  the  boys  in 

the  street,  with  whom  I  had  many  a  battle  royal,  when 
they  dared  to  laugh  at  the  old  gentleman's  appearance. 

"  The  nickname,  besides,  had  no  application  to  my 
father,  if  I  except  the  word  Old.  He  had  never  in  his 
life  been  a  candidate  for  any  office,  clerical  or  political, 
as  far  as  I  know,  and,  in  spite  of  his  enormous  erudition, 
he  would  not  have  been  fit  for  any  office,  for  his  eccen- 
tricity and  odd  disposition  would  have  made  it  impossi- 
ble for  him  to  fulfil  his  duties. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  7 

"  In  later  years  I  have  often  and  often  tried  in  A-ain 
to  find  out  what  bitter  experience  of  life,  what  sad  mis- 
fortunes, could  have  changed  my  father  into  such  an  odd 
character.  He  was  a  hypochondriac  and  a  misanthrope 
at  once,  Avho  avoided  most  carefully  every  contact  Avith 
the  world,  and  who,  therefore,  Avas  as  carefully  let  alone 
by  ever\-body  else.  Those  who  claimed  to  be  men  of 
refinement  and  religious  convictions  called  him  a  cynic 
because  he  had  emancipated  himself  from  all  social  obli- 
gations; and  an  atheist,  because  he  never  appeared  at 
church.  The  superstitious  rabble  crossed  themselves 
when  they  saw  him,  as  if  he  were  standing  in  nearer  re- 
lations to  the  Evil  One  than  Avas  proper  for  a  good 
Christian.  If  he  had  lived  tAvo  hundred  years  sooner, 
they  Avould  no  doubt  have  burnt  him  as  a  sorcerer  or  a 
magician. 

"  I  must  confess,  to  be  candid,  that  the  refined  and  the 
unrefined  rabble  Avere  not  so  far  amiss  Avhen  they  attri- 
buted to  my  father  ideas  and  notions  Avhich  are  not  or- 
dinarily met  Avith  in  the  brains  of  the  majority.  He  had 
a  supreme  contempt  for  all  faith  founded  merely  upon 
authority,  because  he  felt  himself  fettered  by  it  in  the 
freedom  of  his  existence ;  and  an  intense  hatred  for  all 
Avorldly  tyranny,  because  it  prevented  him  from  acting 
freely.  He  openly  declared  a  republic  to  be  the  only 
form  of  gOA-ernment  under  Avhich  a  man  Avho  had  the 
x\^\t  point  dlionneur  could  Ha'C  happily.  EA'ery  preroga- 
tive granted  to  one,  to  a  fcAV,  or  to  the  many,  Avas  to  him 
an  injustice,  Avhich  could  only  be  explained  by  the  inso- 
lence of  the  ruler  and  the  coAA^ardice  of  the  ruled.  He 
could  see  no  difference  in  the  end  betAveen  a  flock  of 
sheep  driven  to  the  slaughter-house  by  a  stupid  serA^ant 
and  a  saA'age  dog,  and  a  people  Avho  alloAved  themseh'es 
to  be  oppressed  and  ill-treated  by  a  proportionately  small 
number  of  men.  The  men,  he  said,  only  managed  to 
cover  their  disgrace  Avith  bright-colored  garments,  Avhile 
the  sheep  Avere  not  able  to  do  the  same. 

"  His  special  hatred,  however,  Avas  given  to  the  nobility. 
As  soon  as  he  happened  to  speak  of  their  caste,  he  had  a 
Avhole  dictionary  of  opprobrious  epithets  at  his  command. 
He  never  entered  the  house  of  a  nobleman ;  and  Avhen- 


8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

ever  young  men  of  noble  birth  proposed  to  take  lessons 
from  him,  he  immediately  refused.  Once,  as  Aye  Ayere 
firing  at  a  target — a  practice  in  Ayhich  he  excelled — he 
told  me  that  in  his  youth  he  had  hoped  thus  to  engage 
himself  against  a  nobleman  Ayho  had  mortally  offended 
him.  Unfortunately  the  man  had  died  before  he  could 
carry  out  his  plan.  That  is  the  only  hint  Ayhich  I  eyer 
received  as  to  my  father's  former  life. 

"  And  thus  I  grew  up,  exclusively  communing  with 
this  strange  man.  The  relations  between  us  were  as  ex- 
traordinary as  he  himself  Although  my  father  did  more 
for  me  than  generally  both  parents  jointly  do  for  their 
rhild,  and  although  he  apparently  lived  and  suffered 
only  for  my  sake,  I  still  do  not  think  he  really  loved  me. 
He  Avas  a  purely  spiritual  man.  Either  his  heart  had 
receiA^ed,  at  some  time  or  other,  a  fatal  bloAv  from  Avhich 
it  had  ncA-er  recoA'ered,  or  his  sentiments  had  all  CA'apo- 
rated  into  mere  notions  under  the  influence  of  his  scepti- 
cism. WhatCA-er  he  did,  he  did  from  a  sense  of  duty, 
from  a  conA'iction  that  it  AA^as  right ;  for,  as  he  said  him- 
self, Justice  is  higher  than  LoA'e ;  it  does  all  that  Love 
does  and  a  great  deal  more." 

"  More,  and  yet  not  quite  so  much,"  interrupted  Franz. 
"  What  Ave  do  from  affection  for  those  Ave  love,  Ave 
ought  to  do  for  others  from  a  sense  of  justice;  that  is, 
from  a  conA'iction  that  the  interests  of  all  men  are  rep- 
resented in  each.  LoA^e  and  Justice  stand  in  the  same 
relation  to  each  other  as  individual  and  species.  One  can 
not  exist  Avithout  the  other,  for  they  need  each  other  mvi- 
tually.  Ju^stice  can  never  teach  us  all  the  thousand  little 
acts  of  tenderness  Avhich  Ave  lavish  upon  those  Ave  loA'e, 
as  individual  Ioa'C  does  not  aid  us  any  longer  Avhen  Ave 
are  called  upon  to  help  a  brotherhood,  a  nation,  or  all 
mankind.*" 

"  You  may  be  right,"  replied  OsaamM,  "  and  Avhat  you 
say  renders  it  easier  for  me  to  make  a  confession  Avhich 
I  Avas  about  to  make.  I  honored  my  father  deeply,  but 
I  did  not  love  him  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  often  experienced, 
as  I  only  felt  clearly  in  later  years,  a  fear  approaching 
repugnance,  Avhen  I  came  in  closer  contact  Avith  the 
strange  man.     Noav  I  hardly  Avonder  at  it,  since  I  have 


Through  Night  to  Light.  9 

found  out  that  nature  probably  never  produced  two 
beings  more  radically  different  than  my  father  and  my- 
self We  were  as  unlike  in  body  as  in  mind  and  in 
inclination.  I  loved  already,  as  a  boy,  with  perfect 
passion,  everything  brilliant  and  splendid,  and  whatever 
is  beautiful  in  nature  and  the  world  of  men.  I  was 
enthusiastically  fond  of  my  schoolmates,  who  rejoiced  in 
the  youthful  ornaments  of  golden  locks,  red  cheeks,  and 
bright  eyes.  I  loved  to  visit  in  hovises  where  everything 
was  elegant  and  in  style,  after  the  manner  of  those  days. 
I  attached  much  importance  to  my  dress,  and  liked  to 
hear  it  when  women  called  me  a  handsome  boy. 

"  You  may  imagine  how  little  a  young  fellow  with  such 
wants  and  such  inclinations  must  have  suited,  as  a  com- 
panion, a  misanthropic  hypochondriac,  whose  manner  of 
life  he  was  nevertheless  forced  to  share  to  a  certain  de- 
gree. For  although  my  father  allowed  me  a  certain 
amount  of  liberty,  which  was  hardly  in  keeping  with  his 
general  views,  and  although  he  indulged  me  in  my  love 
of  fine  clothes  and  the  comforts  of  life  to  a  degree  which 
I  have  never  been  able  to  comprehend,  I  knew  neverthe- 
less that  he  was  deeply  offended  by  this  fondness  of 
mine  for  a  world  which  he  despised.  I  tried,  therefore, 
very  hard,  to  wean  myself  from  such  a  life,  and  suc- 
ceeded all  the  more  readily  in  my  efforts,  as  I  soon  dis- 
covered in  the  solitude,  which  was  at  first  intensely 
hateful  to  .me,  a  source  which  changes  the  most  desolate 
desert  into  a  blooming  paradise — the  Castalian  spring 
of  poetry. 

"  We  lived  in  a  small  house  built  against  and  upon  the 
city  wall.  The  solitary  small  window  from  Avhich  my 
room  received  its  light  Avas  pierced  in  the  thick  wall,  so 
that  the  whole  looked  very  much  more  like  a  prison 
than  anything  else;  and  yet,  what  marvellously  blessed 
hours  I  have  spent  in  that  room  !  From  my  window  I 
had  an  unlimited  view  over  the  wall  and  the  ramparts 
of  the  city — upon  smooth  ponds,  lined  with  beautiful 
copses  of  trees — upon  rich  meadows,  with  willows  scat- 
tered over  them  here  and  there,  far  out  to  the  sea,  which 
glittered  like  a  dark-blue  ribbon  through  the  green 
woods. 


lo  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Here,  at  this  window,  I  used  to  sit  on  summer  eve- 
nings, when  the  sun  was  setting  in  brilliant  splendor,  my 
heart  full  to  overflowing  of  chaotic  sentiments,  and  my 
head  weaving  thoughts  as  fair  and  bright,  and,  alas !  as 
perishable  as  soap  bubbles !  I  remember  I  often  wrote 
verses  in  bright  summer  days  and  in  dark  autumn  eve- 
nings, afterwards,  while  I  was  sitting  in  deep  meditation 
over  my  books,  to  remind  me  of  the  happy  days  then, 
which  had  dropped  one  by  one  from  the  cup  of  time, 
bright  and  brilliant,  into  the  ocean  of  eternity. 

"  But  why  should  I  any  longer  attempt  to  describe  to 
you  these  relations  to  my  father,  which  appear  only  the 
more  enigmatical  to  me  the  more  clearly  I  desire  to  present 
them  to  you.  If  I  ever  had  felt,  as  a  child,  true,  hearty 
love  for  my  father,  it  grew  less  and  less  as  I  became 
older  and  more  independent.  I  had  to  hide  in  my  heart 
all  the  feelings,  all  the  tenderness,  which  we  ordinarily 
lavish  upon  our  mother  and  brothers  and  sisters  and 
friends,  for  I  could  not  feel  any  confidence  in  him  who, 
as  matters  happened  to  stand,  ought  to  have  stood  me  in 
place  of  all  of  them.  The  constant  intercourse  with  a 
mind  so  sombre  and  sceptical  gave  to  my  mind  a  color- 
ing which  was  little  in  harmony  with  my  sanguine  and 
passionate  disposition.  I  was  an  Epicurean  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  a  Stoic,  a  Sybarite  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  a 
Cynic  philosopher.  My  exuberant  fancy  dreamed  of 
the  most  magnificent  worlds,  which  my  cool  judgment 
destroyed  pitilessly;  I  exhausted  myself  in  subtle  de- 
vices, while  my  hot  blood  was  filling  my  heart  to  over- 
flowing ;  I  sat  in  my  cell  and  studied  dusty  old  parch- 
ments, while  my  adventurous  mind  was  longing  for  the 
marvels  of  the  East  and  for  lofty  deeds  of  chivalry. 

"Thus  matters  continued  till  I  went  to  the  University, 
when  I  was  nineteen  years  old.  I  parted  without  grief 
from  my  father.  What  he  felt  at  the  parting  I  cannot  tell. 
He  spoke  to  me,  when  I  said  good-by,  like  a  philosopher 
who  dismisses  his  pupil,  and  recalled  to  my  mind  once 
more  all  the  great  principles  of  his  harsh  worldly  wis- 
dom. The  letters  which  he  wrote  to  me  at  regular  in- 
tervals Avere  in  the  same  tone.  There  were  not  many 
of  them  ;  for  about  six  months  after  I  had  left  him  I  re- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  il 

ceived  a  letter  from  the  authorities  of  my  native  place, 
in  which  they  dryly  informed  me  of  the  death  of  my 
father.  He  had  left  me  a  small  capital,  the  fruit  of  his 
long  and  painful  saving;  it  was  just  enough  to  support 
me  in  a  modest  way  during  my  university  course,  and 
perhaps  some  little  tune  beyond  that.  No  will  had  been 
lound  ;  nor  had  there  been  any  papers,  letters,  diaries,  or 
anything  which  might  have  possibly  given  me  a  clue  to 
the  former  history  of  my  parents. 

"  Thus  I  was  standing  alone  in  the  world — a  young 
man  in  years,  with  the  weary  mind  of  an  old  man.  I 
Avas  ftir  too  old  for  my  fellow-students,  who  looked  to  me 
like  children  at  play ;  and  yet  I  was  far  too  young  and 
inexperienced  myseff  to  resist  the  temptations  of  a  large 
city,  or  to  wander  about  in  such  a  Babel  without  ever 
and  anon  losing  my  way.  How  could  a  young  man,  in 
Avhom  the  current  of  fully  youthful  life  had  been  so  long 
artificially  dammed  up,  avoid  going  astray.?  I  became 
the  hero  of  many  an  intrigue,  of  which  I  was  in  my 
heart  thoroughly  ashamed,  as  I  ought  to  have  been.  I 
was  spoilt  by  the  women,  and  became  the  innocent  victim 
of  many  a  heartless  coquette.  I  gathered  much  expei-i- 
ence  without  growing  any  wiser — the  worst  thing  that 
can  befall  a  man.  And  the  most  remarkable  of  it  all 
was  that  I  loathed  in  my  heart  the  enjoyments  to  which 
I  gave  myself  up ;  that  my  heart  yearned  after  true  love 
at  the  very  times  when  I  wasted  it  upon  women  unworthy 
of  such  a  gift ;  and  that  I  cherished  the  most  extraor- 
dinary plans  for  the  future,  while  I  squandered  my 
strength  in  senseless  amusements. 

"  A  friend,  who  in  those  days  had  some  influence  over 
me,  rescued  me  from  the  whirlpool  in  which  I  would 
have  perished  sooner  or  later.  He  advised  me  to  go  to 
Grunwald.     I  followed  his  advice. 

"  From  that  moment  you  know  my  life,  at  least  in  its 
outlines.  You  know  that  I  became  there  acquainted 
with  the  unfortunate  man  whom  we  are  about  to  visit. 
You  will  now  also  be  able  to  understand  why  it  was 
utterly  impossible  for  me  to  resist  the  charm  of  Berger's 
extraordinary  character,  and  how  I  entangled  myself  by 
my  intercourse  with  him  only  more  and  more  deeply  in 


12  Through  Nig]it  to  Light. 

the  thorns  and  briars  of  internal  conflicts,  which  finally- 
made  my  heart  bleed  to  death. 

"  Berger  wished  me  to  go  to  Grenwitz  and  to  take 
there  a  position  in  a  noble  family,  which  suited  me  about 
as  well  as  a  dove-cot  suits  a  hawk.  You  have  followed 
me  through  the  great  periods  of  my  life  there  with  an 
observant  eye,  and  at  the  same  time  as  a  philosopher 
and  as  a  friend.  I  do  not  know — and  I  do  not  want  to 
know — how  much  you  have  seen,  how  much  you  have 
understood,  and  what  may  have  remained  an  unex- 
plained mystery  for  you.  A  part  of  these  events  I  dare 
not  touch  vipon ;  another  part  I  am  in  duty  bound  to 
leave  untouched.  When  the  catastrophe  came  which 
you  had  anticipated,  and  the  frivolous  world  in  which 
I  Avas  living,  crushed  me — then  you  stood  by  me  as  a 
friend  ;  you  snatched  me  out  of  the  confusion,  and  you 
laid  upon  yourself  a  burden  Avhich  has  no  doubt  made 
you  sigh  more  than  once  since.  But  no  !  that  cannot 
be !  You  are  as  clever  as  you  are  wise,  and  as  wise  as 
you  are  kind.  Tell  me,  Franz,  what  Odysseus  was  your 
father,  what  Penelope  has  borne  you,  that  Pallas  Athena, 
the  goddess  of  wisdom,  has  always  held  you  so  visibly 
under  her  gracious  protection  .?  " 

"  I  believe  everything  in  my  life  has  happened  in  the 
most  ordinary  way,"  said  Franz,  laughing.  "  I  pray  you 
will  not  think  I  escaped  altogether  from  either  Scylla 
or  Charybdis!  I  have  been,  like  yourself,  on  the  point 
of  despair.  What  has  saved  me  is  the  conviction  that 
the  world  is,  after  all,  but  a  Cosmos,  in  which  everybody, 
be  he  Avhat  he  may,  has  to  fill  his  modest  place — a  con- 
viction Avhich  came  to  me  first  very  dimly,  then  more 
and  more  clearly  and  distinctly,  and  finally  filled  my 
heart  with  triumphant  certainty.  This  idea  has  given  me 
that  cheerful  calmness  without  which  life  would  in  the 
end  become  unbearable.  I  said  to  myself:  This  world, 
of  which  you  know  after  all  but  very  little,  is  such  an 
old,  solid,  and  well-finislied  edifice  that  you  need  not 
give  up  the  plan  on  which  it  was  built,  even  if  you 
should  not  compreliend  it  in  all  its  details.  This  race 
Df  ours,  which  maybe  is  intended  for  as  many  millions 
of  years  as  we  now  know  thousands,  is  such  a  marvel- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  13 

lous  and  unfathomable  problem  of  creative  power  that 
you  will  never  come  to  an  end  studyini^  it,  if  you  Averc 
to  live  ever  so  long.  Goethe  tells  us  that  no  man  ever 
possessed  art,  and  I  add,  no  one  ever  possessed  philoso- 
phy. 

"  Starting  from  this  conviction,  I  determined  to  find  a 
sense  and  a  meaning  in  life,  and  I  cannot  help  saying 
that  my  efforts  have  been  crowned  with  some  success. 
Mistrusting  already  as  a  school-boy  the  results  to  be  ob- 
tained from  mere  speculation,  I  chose  a  science  which 
reveals  to  vis  the  events  of  our  soul,  as  it  were,  ad  oculos 
— Medicine.  I  chose  it,  besides,  because  it  brings  us  in 
its  practice  advantageously  into  intimate  contact  with 
other  men,  from  Avhom  we  hold  but  too  generally 
aloof — whatever  may  be  said  in  praise  of  solitude.  He 
who  has  once  understood  the  solidarity  of  all  human  in- 
terests—  that  fundamental  principle  of  all  moral  and 
political  wisdom — knows  also  that  his  individual  exist- 
ence is  but  a  drop  in  the  vast  stream,  and  that  such  a 
drop  has  no  right  to  claim  absolute  independence.  It 
would  be  different  if  men  fell  like  ripe  fruit  from  the 
trees.  But  we  are  brought  into  this  world  through  the 
agony  of  a  mother,  in  order  to  be  the  most  helpless  of  all 
created  beings,  entirely  dependent  on  the  faithful  care  of 
parents;  we  are  then  allowed  to  grow  up,  if  fate  favors 
us,  amid  brothers  and  sisters,  in  order  not  only  to  share 
with  them  all  the  joys  of  life,  but  also  to  obtain  them  by 
their  assistance  ;  and,  even  later,  we  cannot  enjoy  any 
true  pleasure,  any  delight  of  our  heart,  except  through 
others  and  with  others.  All  this  teaches  us  that  we  are 
true  children  of  men,  the  offspring  of  this  earth,  with 
the  right  and  the  duty  to  w^ork  out  our  life  here  below 
upon  our  inheritance  side  by  side  with  other  children  of 
men,  our  brethren,  who  have  the  same  rights,  and  of 
course  also  the  same  duties,  as  we  ourselves. 

"  Thus  you  see,  Oswald,  the  world  becomes  a  Cosmos, 
and  we  cease  to  be  mere  atoms  whirling  about  in  the 
infinite  space  without  a  reasonable  government,  while  no- 
body knows  whence  we  come  and  whither  we  go.  The 
great  fault  of  your  life,  which  it  is  true  you  could  hardly 
avoid  with  such  an  experience  as  you  had  in  your  young 


14  Through  Night  to  Light. 

days,  is  that  you  have  always  lived  for  yourself  only, 
and  never  truly  for  others.  Thus  you  have  drifted  into 
a  false  position,  in  which  you  could  not  be  useful  to  the 
world,  and  the  world  could  not  be  useful  to  you.  Now, 
all  this  will  be  different.  You  have  made  the  sacrifice 
from  friendship  for  me,  to  take  a  step  which  I  know 
well — and  better  now  than  before — must  be  very  painful 
to  your  whole  nature.  But  I  am  convinced  you  will 
bless  this  step  hereafter.  The  trial  year  which  you 
mean  to  devote  to  the  college  at  Grunwald  will  be  in 
other  respects  also  a  trial  year  for  you.  You  will  see 
whether  you  can  obtain  the  hardest  of  all  victories,  the 
victory  over  yourself — over  your  own  arbitrary,  sover- 
eign will.  I  wish  you  were,  like  myself,  engaged  to  some 
good,  sensible  girl,  which  would  compel  you  to  work 
and  compel  you  to  struggle,  if  not  for  your  own  inte- 
rest, at  least  for  the  sake  of  her  who  is  dearer  to  you — 
ten  thousand  times  dearer  to  you — than  your  own  life, 
and  you  would  see  how  easy  the  battle,  how  easy  the 
victory  would  be  to  you." 

Oswald  made  no  reply.  He  felt  convinced  of  the 
trvith  of  what  his  companion  said,  but  at  the  same  time 
he  felt  painfully  ashamed.  For  the  face  of  truth  is  stern, 
and  makes  him  tremble  who  does  not  worship  it  at  the 
cost  of  every  feeling  of  his  own. 

Thus  they  walked  side  by  side  in  deep  silence,  until 
they  reached  the  top  of  the  mountain,  where  the  car- 
riage was  waiting.  They  got  in  again,  and  now  they 
rolled  in  a  quick  trot  down  hill  towards  the  little  town 
which  was  lying  at  their  feet  in  the  bosom  of  a  secluded 
valley,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  well-wooded  hills,  and 
veiled  at  this  moment  by  the  gray  evening  mists.  It 
was  the  end  of  their  day's  journey,  and  for  Oswald  the 
place  of  his  destination — a  watering-place,  called  Fich- 
tenan,  renowned  far  and  near  on  account  of  its  charm- 
ing position,  its  invigorating  baths  of  spruce  leaves,  and 
more  recently  yet  its  large  and  admirably-kept  insane 
asylum,  which  Doctor  Birkenhain,  a  man  of  great  intel- 
ligence and  large  experience  in  such  matters,  had 
founded  there  a  few  years  ago. 

Oswald's  heart  was  filled  with  strange  sensations  as 


Through  Night  to  Light.  15 

he  saw  from  the  corner  in  whicli  lie  was  leaning  back 
the  rocks  and  the  trees  flit  by,  and  felt  that  every  step 
brought  him  nearer  to  the  place  which  had  occupied  his 
mind  during  the  last  months  so  persistently  and  so  pain- 
fully. How  unmeaning  the  name  had  sounded  to  him 
Avhen  he  first  heard  it  mentioned  at  Grenwitz  as  the  place 
where  Melitta  von  Berkow's  suifering  husband  was  liv- 
ing !  Then  he  did  not  know  Melitta  yet,  then  he  did  not 
anticipate  that  he  would  a  few  days  later  be  enchained 
by  the  charms  of  that  beautiful  woman.  Afterwards  he 
had  heard  her  mention  the  name,  though  only  rarely, 
and  always  Avith  much  reluctance,  and  in  his  state  of 
boundless  delight  the  place  had  assumed  for  him  then 
very  much  the  meaning  with  which  the  owner  of  a  su- 
perb, brilliant  house  looks  upon  a  dark  room  Avhich  he 
does  not  like  to  open,  and  of  which  he  avoids  speaking, 
because  years  ago  a  person  who  Avas  dear  to  him  had 
committed  suicide  there.  Then  the  time  had  come  when 
Melitta  obeyed  Dr.  Birkenhain's  summons  and  went  to 
see  her  dying  husband — at  last  the  painful,  wretched 
days,  during  which  he  knew  she  was  at  Fichtenan  by  the 
side  of  her  tmfortunate  husband,  and  when  he  received 
from  Fichtenan  those  letters  in  which  every  word  was 
a  longing  kiss.  In  those  days  Fichtenan  had  appeared 
to  him  alternately  the  grave  and  the  cradle  of  his  happi- 
ness, as  he  now  fancied  Berkow's  death  would  remove 
all  impediments  in  the  way  of  his  marrying  Melitta,  and 
then  again  feared  the  very  same  event  might  forever 
separate  him  from  her.  Then  came  the  fatal  day,  when 
he  found  out  that  the  man  Avhom  he  had  from  the  begin- 
ning looked  upon  as  his  most  formidable  rival  was  with 
Melitta ;  when  malicious  tongues  had  Avhispered  the 
most  hateful  explanations  of  this  fact  in  his  ear,  and  he, 
the  unfortunate  man,  had  but  too  readily  listened  to  these 
abominable  slanders.  Alas!  he  had  already  then  be- 
trayed his  OAvn  love  by  his  OAvn  acts,  and,  like  a  ship- 
wrecked man,  Avho,  in  order  to  save  himself  and  his  trea- 
sures, pitilessly  pushes  his  best  friend  from  the  frail  plank 
into  the  ocean,  he  also  had  sacrificed  Melitta  in  order  to 
justify  his  passion  for  the  fair  Helen  before  the  tribunal 
of  his  OAvn  heart !     And  finally,  to  fill  the  cup  to  overflow- 


1 6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

ing,  and  to  prove  as  it  were  to  his  troubled  mind  that 
the  whole  world  was  out  of  joint,  and  one  error  more  or 
less  did  not  matter  much,  the  same  place  must  hold  the 
woman  he  loved  so  ardently,  and  who  now  sought  com- 
fort for  the  moments  she  must  needs  spend  at  the  death- 
bed of  her  husband  in  the  arms  of  an  interesting  roue, 
and  the  highly  revered  friend  and  teacher,  whose  genius, 
so  like  a  bright  blazing  torch,  had  just  been  extinguished 
in  the  deep  darkness  of  insanity !  Only  a  little  later 
death  had  robbed  him  of  the  boy  Avhom  he  had  learnt 
to  love  as  a  brother,  and  Fate  had  broken,  in  a  most 
painful  manner,  his  connection  with  a  great  and  noble 
family ;  then  he  had  seen  his  rival  wounded  unto  death 
by  his  ball,  lying  at  his  feet,  and  separating  him  forever 
by  this  one  deed  from  the  beloved  girl,  from  whom  a 
thovisand  other  reasons  would,  even  without  this,  have 
compelled  him  to  flee.  Was  it  a  wonder  that  he  felt  as 
if  the  whole  earth  had  no  more  suitable  asylum  for  him 
than  a  cell  adjoining  that  of  his  friend  and  teacher  in 
Doctor  Birkenhain's  famous  Insane  Asylum  at  Fichtenan. 
Doctor  Braun  had  originally  suggested  to  him  this  trip 
for  scientific  purposes,  but  now  Oswald  had  insisted  upon 
starting  at  once,  although  the  former  had  endeavored  to 
postpone  the  visit  under  one  pretext  or  another  for  some 
time,  and  this  for  good  reasons.  He  had  written  to 
Doctor  Birkenhain,  without  telling  Oswald,  and  asked 
him  to  give  him  a  minute  description  of  Berger's  case. 
Doctor  Birkenhain  had  replied,  that  Berger's  insanity 
consisted  exclusively  in  the  fixed  idea  of  the  absolute 
non-existence  of  all  things,  but  that  otherwise  he  was 
in  full  possession  of  all  his  mental  powers,  and  woidd 
have  been  dismissed  from  the  institution  long  since  but  for 
his  own  urgent  desire  to  prolong  his  stay  there.  Doctor 
Braun  knew  perfectly  well  that  under  these  circumstan- 
ces a  visit  to  Fichtenan  might  be  extremely  dangerous 
to  Oswald's  eccentric  mind,  excited  as  he  was  by  all  that 
had  liappencd  of  late.  The  sight  of  a  madman  might 
have  restored  him  to  tranquillity;  but  the  intercourse 
with  a  hypochondriac,  whose  genius  shone  brightly  even 
in  Its  aberrations,  might  possibly  only  tend  to  confirm 
him  in  his  extravagant  ideas. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  17 

]Moved  by  this  apprclicnsion  Doctor  Braiin  liad  post- 
poned the  visit  to  Fichtenan  till  the  end  of  their  journey, 
instead  of  going  there  at  first,  as  Oswald  had  wished.  He 
had  hoped  that  the  frequent  intercourse  with  other  men, 
the  beneficent  influence  of  a  journey  through  a  beautiful 
country,  brilliant  in  all  the  glory  of  autumn,  would 
bring  Oswald  back  to  calmer  and  more  reasonable  views 
of  life,  and  enable  him  to  meet  Berger,  if  not  with  the 
superiority  of  this  calmness,  at  least  without  danger  for 
liimself. 

Now  Franz  saw  himself  deceived  in  his  hopes.  He 
was  by  no  means  pleased  with  Oswald's  excited  manner, 
and  would  have  liked  best  to  turn  back,  if  that  had  still 
been  possible.  He  sat  casting  now  and  then  an  anxious 
glance  at  Oswald,  Avho,  throwing  himself  back  in  his 
corner,  looked  with  fixed  eyes  upon  the  little  town 
below,  and  he  determined  at  least  to  shorten  the  visit  as 
much  as  possible,  and  to  prevent  his  friend's  being  alone 
with  Berger  while  they  were  there  together. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  sun  had  already  set  for  half  an  hour  behind  the 
broad  back  of  the  well-wooded  hill,  which  em- 
braces Fichtenan  on  the  western  side,  when  the 
carriage  left  the  mountains  and  rolled  down  into  the 
plain  in  which  the  town  is  situated.  The  wearied  horses 
enjoyed  the  level  ground  and  the  easier  motion  of  the 
carriage,  and  hastened  to  meet  their  good  supper  of 
oats.  They  seemed  to  gather  new  strength  from  the 
shrill  notes  of  a  clarinet  which  were  heard  high  above 
the  unfailing  roll  of  a  big  drum,  from  the  midst  of  a 
close  circle  of  men,  who  surrounded  on  the  commons 
near  the  town-gate  a  band  of  rope-dancers.  The  road 
passed  close  by  the  place,  and  as  the  crowd  of  curious 
people  had  overflowed  upon  the  turnpike,  the  driver  saw 
himself  compelled  to  drive  more  slowly,  and  at  last  to 


i8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

stop  altogether,  as  the  people  were  not  willing,  in  spite 
of  his  scolding  and  cursing,  to  give  up  their  vantage 
ground,  and  persisted  in  remaining  on  the  spot,  from 
which  they  could  comfortably  look  down  upon  the  per- 
formance. 

The  good  people  thought  it  naturally  quite  hard  to 
be  disturbed  just  then,  as  the  wandering  artists  were  at 
that  moment  engaged  in  performing  their  masterpiece, 
with  which  they  always  wound  up  the  evening's  work, 
so  as  to  dismiss  the  audience  with  the  most  favorable 
impression. 

They  had  stretched  a  rope  from  the  little  circus  to  the 
top  of  a  tall  but  broad-branched  oak-tree  which  stood 
upon  the  common,  smaller  ropes  ran  on  both  sides 
down  to  the  ground,  and  were  there  held  fast  by  stout 
boys,  who  had  volunteered  to  perform  that  service  for 
the  sake  of  High  Art.  The  increased  shrillness  of  the 
clarinet  and  the  growing  thunder  of  the  big  drum 
announced  the  coming  of  the  great  moment  when  the 
famous  acrobat,  Mr.  John  Cotterby,  of  Egypt,  called  the 
Flying  Pigeon,  would  have  the  honor  to  perform,  Avith 
permission  of  the  authorities,  his  great  feat,  admired  by 
all  the  potentates  of  Asia  and  Europe,  viz.,  to  fetch  down 
a  flag  fastened  to  the  top  of  a  steeple  four  hvmdred  feet 
high,  on  the  extraordinary  path  of  a  single  rope,  and 
moreover  walking  backwards  all  the  time,  a  feat  Avhich 
he  hoped  the  nobility  and  the  highly  cviltivated  public 
of  Fichtenan  would  not  fail  duly  to  appreciate. 

The  tower,  four  hundred  feet  high,  of  Avhich  the  pla- 
cards at  all  the  street  corners  had  spoken  about,  had 
changed,  it  is  true,  into  an  oak  of  perhaps  forty  feet 
height,  and  the  enemies  and  rivals  of  the  Flying  Pigeon 
— and  what  great  artist  is  without  enemies.'' — insisted  up- 
on it  that  this  change  in  the  programme  diminished  not 
only  the  danger  but  also  the  interest  of  the  daring  feat. 
But  it  was  not  Mr.  John  Cotterby 's  fault,  surely,  that 
the  Imperialists  had  in  the  Thirty  Years'  War  shot  to 
pieces  the  steeple  of  the  little  church  on  the  public 
square  of  Fichtenan,  Avhich  was  then  held  by  the  Swedes. 
Nor  was  he  to  be  blamed  if  the  paternal  government 
had  now  for  two  hundred  years  determined  annually  to 


Through  Night  to  Light.  19 

rebuild  tlic  steeple,  but  never  accomplished  it  yet. 
What  could  he  do,  Mr.  John  Cotterby,  of  Egypt,  if,  for 
want  of  better  times  to  come,  the  church  on  the  square 
■was  to  this  day  without  a  steeple .''  Certainly,  if  the  con- 
science of  the  Flying  Pigeon  was  as  innocent  of  every 
other  crime  as  of  this,  he  could  perform  his  great  feat, 
even  with  the  change  of  the  programme,  unblushingly 
before  the  potentates  of  Europe  and  Asia,  and  the  nobility 
and  highly  cultivated  public  of  Fichtenan. 

And  without  blushing  —  unless  the  carmine  of  his 
rouge  should  be  interpreted  to  proclaim  the  redness  of 
his  modesty — the  Flying  Pigeon  presented  himself  now, 
accompanied  by  desperate  efforts  of  the  clarinet  and 
the  big  drum,  which  were  at  that  solemn  moment  rein- 
forced by  the  tinkling  of  a  triangle  and  the  screams  of  a 
tuneless  fiddle,  upon  a  little  scaffolding,  hung  with 
soiled  linen  sheets,  to  begin  his  journey  heavenward. 
He  was  a  handsome,  well-made  man,  and  quite  young; 
his  dark  curly  hair  was  confined  by  a  narrow  band  of 
brass,  and  his  whole  costume  consisted  of  a  suit  of 
stockinet  which  had  long  lost  its  first  color  of  innocent 
Avhite,  and  a  jacket  of  the  same  material,  to  which  on 
the  shoulders  two  wings  had  been  fastened,  which, 
however,  had  evidently  performed  such  very  hard  ser- 
vice that  they  had  lost  many  a  feather  on  previous  occa- 
sions. 

Encouraging  applause  greeted  the  artist  and  drowned 
easily  the  hissing  of  the  opposition ;  he  bowed  gracefully 
all  around,  with  an  air  which  is  only  found  among 
circus  riders,  rope-dancers,  and  other  members  of  that 
airy  guild,  while  other  mortals  in  vain  endeavor  to  imi- 
tate it,  and  thus  to  rob  them  of  their  exclusive  secret. 
But  the  applause  ceased  suddenly,  when  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  whole  audience  a  huge,  shapeless  figure 
was  seen  climbing  after  the  courteous  artist  upon  the 
platform,  and  presenting  him,  after  a  hearty  slap  upon 
the  place  between  the  Icarus  wings,  with  a  long  slip  of 
paper !  The  white  nightcap,  the  large  blue  apron,  but 
above  all  the  enormous,  deep-red  nose,  left  no  one  who 
was  learned  in  such  matters  long  in  doubt  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  man ;  they  saw  at  once  in  him  the  owner 


20  Through  Night  to  Light. 

of  a  beer-shop,  or  something  of  the  kind,  and  in  the  paper 
an  unpaid  bill. 

The  artist  would  not  have  been  a  true  artist  if  he  had 
not  been  deeply  embarrassed  by  this  sudden  intrusion 
of  stern  reality  vipon  the  bright  regions  of  art.  There 
followed  a  pretty  pantomime ;  the  Flying  Pigeon 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  pointed  at  the  place  in  his 
stockinet  where  people  with  trousers  of  larger  dimen- 
sions indulge  in  pockets,  in  order  to  express  his  very 
evident  inability  to  pay,  and  seemed  to  implore  the 
landlord  with  much  wringing  of  hands  and  plaintive 
gesticulating  to  have  patience.  The  latter  replied, 
however,  as  it  seemed,  only  by  making  fearful  faces 
and  by  striking  his  hand  with  his  closed  fist,  and  thus 
made  it  very  clear  that  he  was  inexorably  hard-hearted. 

The  highly-cultivated  public  of  Fichtenan  and  the 
surrounding  country  looked  upon  the  scene  as  a  very 
serious  affair,  and  showed  their  amazement  and  deep 
interest  in  every  feature.  Bvit  the  excitement  rose  to  a 
painful  intensity  when  next,  upon  a  sign  from  the  red- 
nosed  landlord,  two  fellows  with  huge  moustaches,  in 
blue  coats  and  black  tri-cornered  hats,  came  climbing  up 
on  the  stage,  and  filled  the  hearts  of  the  innocent  spec- 
tators with  horror  as  they  raised  their  arms  upon  the 
bidding  of  injured  Justice,  and,  seizing  the  unlucky 
artist  with  fearful  grimaces  and  gesticulations,  bound 
his  impecunious  hands  behind  his  winged  back. 

And  now,  at  this  most  painful  moment  in  the  earthly 
career  of  an  artist,  it  was  to  be  shown  that  the  great 
god  Apollo  knows  how  to  lead  his  saints  Avonderfully 
out  of  troubles  and  trials,  and  to  secure  to  them  the  well- 
earned  apotheosis,  if  not  in  this  vale  of  tears,  at  least  in 
heavenly  regions. 

For,  from  the  thickest  of  the  oak-tree,  where  the  rope 
had  been  fastened  to  a  mighty  branch,  there  suddenly 
appeared  the  figure  of  a  lovely  genius,  Avinged  like  the 
Mying  Pigeon,  with  a  wreath  on  the  hair  and  a  bright 
banner  in  the  right  hand.  This  was  evidently  the  Hag 
which  Mr.  John  Cotterby,  of  Egypt,  usually  fetched  down 
from  a  steeple  four  hundred  feet  high,  and  which  he 
saw  himself  on  this  day  forced,  for  want  of  a  suitable 


Through  Night  to  Light.  21 

tower,  to  bring  down  from  heaven  itself.     For  was  not 
the  winged  genius  one  of  the  heavenly  choirs  ? 

When  the  messenger  from  Olympus  showed  himself 
so  opportunely,  the  servants  of  earthly  Justice  and  the 
wine-colored  dispenser  of  abominable  beverages  were, 
as  in  duty  bound,  seized  with  sudden  terror.  They 
abandoned  their  victim  and  fell  with  all  the  signs  of 
deep  contrition  upon  their  knees,  while  the  Flying 
Pigeon  relieved  himself  of  his  fetters  and  began  to  as- 
cend the  narrow  path  that  leads  to  heaven,  with  all  the 
swiftness  and  agility  which  had  won  such  honor  for  his 
name  and  reputation.  When  he  had  gone  up  half-way 
he  knelt  down  before  the  heavenl}'  apparition,  who  had 
beckoned  him  on  with  unceasing  waving  of  the  flag,  rose 
to  his  full  height  and  made  there,  far  above  the  earth 
and  all  earthly  fear,  a  gesture  towards  his  conscience- 
stricken  pursuers,  which  is  universally  understood  upon 
the  earth.  Loud  applause  and  cheerful  laughter  ac- 
companied the  humorous  artist  up  to  the  very  heavens, 
Avhere  the  genius  handed  him  the  flag,  crowned  him 
with  the  wreath,  and  then  disappeared  once  more  in  the 
branches.  Mr.  John  Cotterby  then  returned  to  the 
stage,  where  the  constables  had  in  the  meantime  learnt 
to  appreciate  the  value  of  the  ideal  and  of  the  divine 
nature  of  art,  and  now  received  him  with  deep  bows, 
while  the  red-nosed  landlord  yielded  to  the  impvilse  of 
the  moment,  and  with  most  praiseworthy  repentance 
tore  the  enormous  bill  from  end  to  end,  thus  giving  the 
spectators  a  comforting  assurance  that  the  Flying 
Pigeon  was,  at  least  for  the  present,  safe  against  all 
attacks  upon  his  freedom. 

The  performance  was  at  an  end.  The  generous  land- 
lord, who  now  appeared  in  the  character  of  manager  of 
the  company  of  artists,  alone  remained  behind  on  the 
stage,  and  in  his  epilogue  promised  the  nobility  and 
highly-cultivated  public  of  Fichtenan  and  the  surround- 
ing country  on  the  next  day  a  far  more  splendid  rep- 
resentation. The  audience  dispersed  very  suddenly, 
for  a  suspicious  ringing  of  money  on  tin  plates  reminded 
them  suddenly  of  a  duty  which  the  ungrateful  among 
the  spectators  did  not  hold  themselves  bound  to  perform, 


22  Through  Night  to  Light. 

while  many  grateful  admirers  regretted  deeply  their 
inability  to  prove  their  gratitude. 

Nevertheless  the  majority  of  those  unable  to  pay  were 
still  honest  enough  to  allow  the  unwelcome  plate  to 
come  quite  near  to  them,  and  those  Avho  were  not  kept 
by  honesty  remained  from  curiosity  to  find  out  how  the 
genius  who  dwelt  in  the  branches  of  oak-trees  might  look 
when  seen  near  by.  For  it  was  Apollo's  own  messenger 
who  deigned  to  make  the  collection  for  the  benefit  of  his 
children  upon  earth. 

The  cunning  director  could  not  have  made  a  better 
choice.  The  genius  —  it  was  hard  to  tell  whether  it  was 
a  boy  or  a  girl  —  had  a  pair  of  magnificent  brown  eyes, 
which  looked  with  such  bewitching  modesty  and  so  im- 
ploringly into  every  face  that  the  purses  opened  together 
with  the  hearts.  Kindly  words  followed  the  child  every- 
where, and  one  or  the  other  of  the  wxll-to-do  citizens 
seemed  to  think  himself  entitled  by  his  gift  of  a  few  cents 
to  pinch  the  brown  cheeks  ;  but  the  genius  appeared  by 
no  means  disposed  to  appreciate  the  caress. 

The  driver  had  been  on  the  point  of  leaving  as  soon 
as  the  crowd  allowed  him  to  pass,  but  Franz  and  Os- 
wald, who  had  followed  the  drama  of  the  artist's  earthly 
career  and  his  apotheosis  with  great  interest,  and  now 
and  then  with  hearty  laughter,  ordered  him  to  stop  till 
the  genius  should  have  made  his  way  through  the  dense 
crowd  to  the  carriage.  They  had  not  to  Avait  long,  for 
a  travelling  carriage  with  two  gentlemen  inside  was 
surely  worth  more  than  a  dozen  of  poor  citizens  of  Fich- 
tenan. 

Franz  was  looking  for  some  small  change  in  his  purse 
when  he  was  startled  by  a  loud  exclamation. 

"  What  is  the  matter  }  "  he  asked,  looking  wonderingly 
up  at  Oswald,  who  had  jumped  up  and  uttered  the  cry. 

Oswald  did  not  reply,  but  leaped  with  a  single  bound 
out  of  the  carriage,  and  hurried  to  meet  the  genius,  who 
no  sooner  recognized  the  young  man  than  he  dropped  the 
plate  with  all  the  silver  and  copper  coins,  and  fell  into 
his  arms. 

"  Czika,  is  it  really  you  ?  " 

**  Yes,  man  with  the  blue  eye,"  replied  the  child,  eagerly 


Through  Night  to  Light.  23 

and  affectionately,  still  hanging  on  his  neck  ;  but  then 
suddenly  tearing  herself  away  and  anxiously  looking 
toward  the  carriage  : 

"  Is  the  other  one  there  also  ?  " 

"  No,  Czika,"  said  Oswald,  knowing  very  well  that  the 
other  of  whom  she  spoke  was  Oldenburg.  "  But  are 
you  quite  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  mother  is  with  me  ;  mother  does  not  leave  the 
Czika.  Come  and  help  me  to  collect  the  money  again." 
And  the  child  stooped  down  to  pick  up  the  coins  that 
Avere  half  hid  in  the  dust. 

,  "  Oldenburg's  child  among  rope-dancers,"  said  Os- 
wald to  himself,  mechanically  obeying  the  child's  injunc- 
tion and  unconscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  kneeling 
down  and  picking  up  here  and  there  the  scattered  pen- 
nies. 

The  highly-cultivated  public  thought  this  meeting  of 
an  apparently  great  personage  with  a  rope-dancer's 
child,  and  their  warm*  embrace,  more  remarkable  than 
anything  they  had  seen  that  evening.  Young  and  old 
they  crowded  around  them,  forming  a  close  circle,  and 
apparently  determined  not  to  leave  the  place  till  they 
had  solved  the  mystery  of  this  extraordinary  meeting. 

Franz,  Avho  had  witnessed  the  scene  from  the  carriage, 
had  scarcely  been  less  amazed  than  the  crowd.  Very 
soon,  however,  he  recollected  the  mysterious  reports 
about  a  gypsy  girl  which  Baron  Oldenburg  was  said  to 
have  harbored  at  his  lonely  house  for  several  weeks, 
until  she  had  escaped  from  him  one  fine  day,  and,  with 
that  rapidity  of  combination  which  is  often  found  in 
strong  heads,  he  at  once  concluded  that  Oswald,  who  no 
doubt  was  in  the  baron's  secret,  had  recognized  the 
gypsy  girl  in  the  beautiful  genius.  His  next  thought 
was  to  shorten  the  scene,  for  Oswald's  sake  mainly,  and 
in  order  to  diminish  as  far  as  possible  the  sensation 
which  it  had  already  produced. .  He  jumped,  therefore, 
from  the  carriage,  hastened  to  Oswald,  and  said, 

"  Let  us  go  on  !     At  least  till  the  crowd  has  dispersed." 

At  the  same  moment  the  director  of  the  company,  who 
had  also  observed  the  scene  from  the  stage,  on  which  he 
had  harangued  the  public,  pushed  his  way  through  the 


24  Through  Night  to  Light. 

assembly.  His  curiosity  to  know  what  was  going  on, 
and  his  indignation  at  seeing  the  important  business  of 
collection  interrupted  at  the  critical  moment,  had  made 
him  forget  that  he  still  wore  the  costume  of  the  red-nosed 
landlord,  and  that  he,  therefore,  ought  not  to  have  min- 
gled with  the  people  unless  he  wished  to  sacrifice  the 
dignity  of  his  art.  Franz  was  justly  afraid  that  the 
tragi-comic  scene  might  become  decidedly  disagreeable 
if  that  personage  should  join  them,  and  therefore  antici- 
pated his  questions  by  meeting  him  before  he  came 
near,  and  whispering  to  him  in  a  tone  just  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  by  the  bystanders, 

"I  am  a  physician,  sir.  This  young  man  (pointing 
over  his  shoulder  at  Oswald,  who  was  still  kneeling 
down  with  Czika)  is  rather  eccentric.  You  understand. 
Here  is  something  in  compensation  for  the  loss  he  may 
have  caused  you.  ' 

The  man  considered  this  explanation,  Avhich  was  given 
in  a  very  solemn  manner,  perfectly  satisfactory,  since  the 
possible  loss  was  amply  made  up  by  the  two  silver  dol- 
lars which  Franz  had  slipped  into  his  hand.  He  smiled 
cunningly,  and  said,  pulling  off  his  night-cap  and  bowing 
low, 

"  Understand,  understand,  your  excellency.  Only 
pray  get  him  away  quickly,  so  that  the  Czika  can  go  on 
with  the  collection." 

"  Where  are  you  staying.'  "  inquired  Franz. 

"  At  the  Green  Hat,  your  excellency.  Your  excel- 
lency will  rejoice  a  poor  artist's  soul  if  you  will  bestow 
upon  him  your  gracious  patronage." 

"Well,  Avell,"  said  Franz,  and  then  turning  to  Os- 
Avald,  who  had  risen  in  the  meantime, 

"  I  pray  you,  Oswald,  let  us  go  on  now.  I  know  where 
these  people  are  staying ;  you  can  go  and  see  them  some 
other  time.'" 

Oswald,  who  had  recovered  from  his  first  overwhelm- 
ing astonishment  at  finding  Czika  in  such  company,  now 
saw  very  clearly  the  extraordinary  character  of  his  posi- 
tion, and  knew  too  well  how  sensible  his  friend's  advice 
was  to  neglect  it  any  longer. 

The    Czika    had    shown    the    wonderful    self-control 


Through  N'ii^Jit  to  Light.  25 

■which  this  remarkable  child  never  lost  but  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  was  going-  on  with  the  collection  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  She  did  not  even  cast  a  glance  at  Oswald 
as  he  went  back  to  the  carriage,  almost  forced  to  do  so 
by  Franz. 

The  carriage  drove  off.  The  Cxowd  had  quickly  seized 
upon  the  fable  of  Oswald's  insanity,  v.-hich  Franz  had 
invented  with  such  admirable  presence  of  mind,  and  dis- 
persed all  the  more  rapidly  as  the  increasing  coolness 
of  the  evening  air  reminded  them  forcibly  of  the  warm 
supper  that  awaited  them  in  their  warm  rooms  at  home. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

r  v/as  a  few  hours  later.  The  evening  had  come  com- 
pletely. The  mountains  of  Fichtenan  were  wrapped 
in  their  double  veils  of  night  and  mist;  on  the  dark 
sky  a  few  lonely  stars  peeped  here  and  there  through 
the  drifting  clouds.  The  narrow  streets  of  the  little 
town  were  deserted  ;  lights,  however,  were  shining  from 
the  windows  o:^  the  low,  simple  houses.  People  were 
sitting  around  the  stove  after  their  frugal  suppers,  and 
the  husband  told  his  wife,  Avho  for  good  reasons  had  not 
been  able  to  venture  into  a  crowd,  what  Avonderful  feats 
of  strength,  agility,  and  skill  he  had  seen  outside  of  the 
town  on  the  great  meadow ;  how  an  insane  gentleman 
had  driven  up  with  his  physician  (who  no  doubt  was 
bringing  him  to  Doctor  Birkenhain's  great  institution), 
and  how  he  had  embraced  tlie  pretty  gypsy  girl,  who  was 
going  around  with  the  plate,  before  all  the  people.  The 
old,  half-deaf  grandmother,  who  was  nodding  in  her 
arm-chair  near  the  stove,  and  only  heard  half  of  what  he 
was  saying,  remarked, 

"  Yes,  yes  !  gypsies  are  the  devil's  children  ;  everybody 
knows  that.  My  sainted  great-grandfather  lent  a  hand 
when  five  of  them  were  burned  on  the  great  meadow." 

There  was  great  feasting  that  night  in  the  Green  Plat, 
2 


26  Throtigh  Night  to  Light. 

a  low  drover's  inn  near  the  cjates  of  the  town,  and  not  far 
from  the  great  meadow.  The  Green  Hat  was  also  the 
headquarters  of  all  wandering  rope-dancers,  and  there- 
fore a  most  attractive  place  for  all  lovers  of  art  among 
the  people  of  Fichtenan. 

The  long  table  in  the  public  room,  which  was  filled 
with  tobacco  smokers,  could  scarcely  hold  the  number 
of  guests,  although  they  were  sitting  closely  enough  on 
the  hard  benches.  At  the  upper  end,  especially,  the 
crowd  was  great,  for  there  the  artists  sat  and  drank  in 
the  full  consciousness  of  their  dignity  and  the  hearty 
enjoyment  of  a  free  treat.  The  director,  Mr.  Caspar 
Schmenckel,from  Vienna,presided  as  a  matter  of  course. 
He  had  laid  aside  all  the  insignia  of  the  last  part  he  had 
played,  except  a  few  patches  of  rouge  which  still  adorned 
his  bloated  face ;  he  had  taken  off  his  nightcap  and  the 
blue-checked  apron,  together  with  the  pillow  with  which 
it  was  stuffed.  He  appeared  now  in  the  comfortable 
and  elegant  costume  of  a  gentleman  who  has  relieved 
himself  of  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  who  forgets,  in 
the  consciousness  of  his  artistic  fame  and  of  his  broad, 
richly-embroidered  suspenders,  that  his  linen  is  not  of 
the  cleanest.  Mr.  John  Cotterby,  of  Egypt,  who  sat  on 
the  right  hand  of  his  lord  and  master,  had  been  com- 
pelled to  make  a  greater  alteration  in  his  toilette,  espe- 
icially  since  the  artistic  wardrobe  boasted  only  of  a  sin- 
gle suit  of  stockinet,  and  it  was  therefore  of  the  utmost 
importance  for  him  to  do  all  that  could  be  done  in 
order  to  preserve  its  delicate  whiteness.  Mr.  John  Cot- 
terby, of  Egypt,  wore  a  short,  gray  coat  with  green 
trimmings,  and  would  have  looked,  all  in  all,  far  more 
like  a  handsome  Tyrolese  (which  was,  by-the-by,  his  real 
cliaracter)  than  the  son  of  the  land  of  mystery  through 
which  the  Nile  rolls  its  waves,  if  the  narrow  brass  band 
which  still  confined  his  dark  locks,  and  the  broken 
German  which  he  composed  most  artistically  for  the 
occasion,  had  not  vouched  for  his  mystic  descent. 
There  were  two  other  artists  sitting  a  little  further  down 
the  table ;  one  a  modest,  silent,  tall  man,  who  took  his 
craft  in  earnest,  and  meditated  deeply  how  he  might 
introduce  a  new  feature  in  his  far-famed  performance, 


Tlvough  Night  to  Light.  27 

the  Gigantic  Cask  ;  the  other,  the  clown  of  the  company, 
a  round,  odd-looking  creature,  who  made  a  new  grimace 
at  every  glass  which  he  drank  with  a  new  guest,  and 
thus  proved  the  immense  stock  of  that  valuable  com- 
modity which  he  owned,  since  this  process  of  touching 
glasses  occurred  on  an  average  every  five  minvites. 

Mr.  Caspar  Schmenckel,  director,  etc.,  had  been  a  fine- 
looking  man  until  the  abundance  of  his  potations  had 
injured  the  fair  symmetry  of  his  person,  and  he  loved  to 
recall  the  many  gallant  adventures  of  which  he  had 
been  the  hero,  and  in  which  even  great  ladies,  whose  eye 
had  been  well  pleased  with  the  gigantic  proportions  of 
the  Hercules,  played  a  prominent  part.  When  Mr. 
Schmenckel  had  emptied  his  third  glass  he  was  apt  to 
become  eloquent  about  this  heroic  age  of  his  life,  and  to- 
night he  had  already  more  than  doubled  the  mysterious 
number  which  loosened  the  chaste  seal  on  his  lips.  The 
young  men  who  pressed  around  him  glass  in  hand 
Avould  have  fared  better,  probably,  as  far  as  their  morals 
Avere  concerned,  if  they  had  not  honored  the  Green  Hat 
on  that  particvdar  evening  with  their  presence. 

Mr.  Schmenckel's  fancy  was  exuberant,  and  where  or- 
dinary eyes  saw  but  a  number  of  midges  dancing  in  the 
air,  his  rolling  eye  beheld  a  host  of  elephants.  He  cal- 
culated with  incredible  boldness  upon  the  credulity  of 
his  listeners ;  above  all  he  endeavored  to  surround  him- 
self and  the  members  of  his  company  with  a  nimbus  of 
adventurous  glorv.  The  accident  on  the  great  meadow, 
which  had  brought  the  madman  and  the  Czika  into  con- 
tact with  each  other,  was  far  too  useful  for  such  a  pur- 
pose not  to  be  fully  employed  by  Mr.  Schmenckel.  It 
is  true  the  gypsy  and  her  child  had  joined  his  troop 
quite  accidentally  a  few  days  ago,  as  they  were  making 
their  Avay  across  the  mountains  towards  Fichtenan,  and 
Mr.  Schmenckel  knew  as  little  of  their  former  history 
as  any  one  in  the  company ;  but  his  imagination  was 
only  the  more  perfectly  free  to  rove  at  random,  and  he 
invented  a  magnificent  story  in  order  to  satisfy  the  curi- 
osity of  the  guests,  who  continually  came  back  to  the 
beautiful  child  and  the  gypsy  woman  who  had  appeared 
as  a  dancer  in  the  first  part  of  the  performance. 


28  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Yes,  you  see,"  said  Director  Schmenckel,  "  that  is  a 
very  mysterious  story,  and  I  should  be  quite  ready  to  tell 
you  all  about  it,  but  it  is  so  very  incredible." 

Mr.  Schmenckel  dived  with  his  red  nose  into  his  beer 
and  slowly  absorbed  the  remaining  half,  while  his  eyes 
twinkled  with  delight  as  he  looked  by  turns  through  the 
swollen  lids  at  one  and  the  other  of  his  friends. 

"  Tell  us,  tell  us,  Director !  "  cried  half  a  dozen  voices. 

"Another  bumper  for  the  Director!"  cried  another 
half  dozen. 

"It  may  be  about. ten  or  twelve  years,"  began  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  after  having  diminished  the  contents  of  the 
new  glass  to  a  considerable  extent,  "when  I  was  making 
a  trip  to  Egypt " 

When  he  said  Egypt  all  eyes  turned  to  Mr.  John  Cot- 
terby,  who  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  smiled  mysteri- 
ously. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  do  in  Egypt .'  "  asked  a 
voice. 

"May  I  tell,  Mr.  Cotterby.?  "  asked  Mr.  Schmenckel. 

"  Fideremkankinsavalilaloramei,"  replied  the  Egyp- 
tian, who  could  not  imagine  what  his  lord  and  master 
wanted  to  be  allowed  to  tell. 

"Thanks,  Cotterby,"  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  "modesty 
adorns  a  man,  but  why  should  I  conceal  it  that  it  was 
on  your  account  I  was  making  that  journey  ?  You  must 
know,  gentlemen,  that  the  fame  of  Mr.  Cotterby  was  in 
those  days  filling  the  whole  Orient,  and  that  nobody 
spoke  of  anything  but  the  Flying  Pigeon.  I  said  to 
myself:  You  must  induce  this  man,  the  greatest  artist 
whom  the  world  ever  saw,  to  join  your  company,  as 
sure  as  your  name  is  Caspar  Schmenckel.  No  sooner 
said  than  done.  I  went  to  Egypt,  where  I  was  told  Mr. 
Cotterby  was  then  residing,  but  Mr.  Cotterby  was  no- 
where to  be  found.  At  last  I  learnt  from  an  old  Dervish 
who  had  sold  me  the  talking  serpent,  which  I  shall 
have  the  honor  of  exhibiting  to-morrow,  that  Mr.  Cot- 
terby was  staying  somewhere  far  away  in  the  desert  near 
the  pyramids.     May  I  tell  why  you  did  so,  Cotterby.?  " 

"  Framtebaramta !  Tell  what  you  Avish  to  tell,"  re- 
plied the  Egyptian,  with  a  generous,  modest  smile. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  29 

"  Mr  Cottcrby,  you  must  know,  had  retired  for  some 
time  into  the  desert,  and  sworn  a  fearful  oatli  that  lie 
would  not  again  appear  in  public  till  he  had  ascended 
every  one  of  the  pyramids  on  a  rope." 

"  What  are  those  pyramids?  "  inquired  a  voice. 

"  Pyramids !  "  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  dictatorially,  "  are 
immense  heaps  of  stone,  which  the  old  Egyptians  raised 
in  honor  of  their  gods,  a  thovisand  feet  high,  or  more, 
and  so  steep  that  a  cat  can  hardly  get  to  the  top.  On 
the  top  there  is  a  pointed  stone  pillar,  called  obelisk  ; 
to  this  Mr.  Cotterby  fastened  one  end  of  a  rope,  while 
the  lower  end  was  held  by  two  thousand  black  slaves  of 
his,  and  thus  he  walked  up  and  down,  so  that  those  who 
saw  it  felt  their  hair  stand  on  an  end.  That  was  the 
way  I  found  Mr.  Cotterby  engaged  in  the  desert,  and 
of  course  I  became  more  anxious  than  ever  to  engage 
him  for  our  company ;  but  he  refused.  What  was  I  to 
do.?  I  had  nothing  left  but  to  climb  at  night  to  the  top 
of  the  pyramid  at  the  risk  of  my  life,  and  next  morning, 
when  Mr.  Cotterby  arrived  there,  to  seize  him  around 
the  waist  and  to  cry :  Either  you  consent  to  an  engage- 
ment for  three  thousand  a  year,  or  I  send  you  head 
over  heels  down  this  pyramid,  as  sure  as  my  name  is 
Caspar  Schmenckel.  May  I  tell  what  you  replied,  Cot- 
terby.? " 

The  Egyptian  nodded  assent. 

"  If  you  are  Mr.  Schmenckel  from  Vienna,"  said  Mr. 
Cotterby,  "  you  need  not  have  made  such  an  ado  about 
it.  I  should  have  come  to  you  any  way  to  Vienna,  as 
soon  as  I  had  done  with  this  pyramid.  There  is  only 
one  Schmenckel,  as  there  is  only  one  Cotterby;  both 
ought  to  be  together,  like  bread  and  butter.  But  that 
was  not  exactly  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  gentle- 
men," said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  emptying  his  glass  and  hold- 
ing it  up  to  the  light,  as  if  he  wished  to  convince  him- 
self that  there  was  really  nothing  left  in  it. 

"  A  glass  for  Director  Schmenckel,"  cried  a  dozen 
voices. 

"  Thanks !  thanks  !  gentlemen  !  Your  health  ! — but 
how  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Madame  Xenobia — or 
Kussuk  Arnem,  as  her  true  name  is.     But  that  story  is 


30  Through  Night  to  Light. 

almost  still  more  incredible,  and  contains  certain  epi- 
sodes which  I  can  only  touch  upon  in  the  way  of  deli- 
cate allusions " 

"  Oh,  never  mind !  Just  go  on  and  tell  us !  "  ex- 
claimed the  listeners,  crowding  more  closely  around 
him. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you  !  A  short  time  after  I  had 
thus  secured  Mr.  Cotterby  for  my  company,  I  was  giv- 
ing a  few  representations  at  Constantinople  on  the  great 
square  before  the  Sultan's  palace.  He  took  uncommon 
interest  in  our  art,  and  had  given  us  permission  to  fasten 
our  rope  to  the  uppermost  turret  of  his  palace,  upon  the 
flat  roof  itself  Now,  you  must  know  that  the  upper 
story  of  this  palace  contains  the  rooms  of  the  wives  of 
the  Sultan,  and  on  that  account  it  is  called  the  harem. 
I  had  always  felt  the  most  intense  desire  to  make  my 
way  some  time  or  other  into  such  an  harem,  which 
otherwise  is  vxtterly  inaccessible  to  everybody.  And 
now  Cotterby  had  told  me  that  whenever  he  came  by 
the  top  story  the  most  beavitiful  black  eyes  in  the  world 
were  glancing  at  him  through  the  narrow  crevices  be- 
tween the  planks,  which  are  nailed  over  the  windows  of 
the  harem.  What  could  I  do  .'  I  say  to  Cotterby  :  '  Cot- 
terby,' says  I,  'you  can  do  anything.  Suppose  you  take 
me  to-morrow  in  the  wheelbarrow,  which  you  carry  up 
and  down  the  rope,  and  then  let  me  get  out  on  the  roof. 
I  must  see  how  things  look  up  there.  You  can  bring 
me  back  the  same  way  the  day  after.  Will  you  do  it }  ' 
'  Why  not  1  '  says  Cotterby,  '  if  you  wish  it  particularly.' 
The  next  day  the  thing  is  done.  I  hide  myself  in  the 
wheelbarrow.  Cotterby  carries  me  vip  to  the  roof;  he 
turns  the  barrow  over  and  there  I  am,  on  the  roof,  quite 
alone,  for  Cotterby  had  gone  back  immediately,  so  as  to 
create  no  suspicion.  Now  you  may  believe  it  or  not  as 
you  choose,  gentlemen,  but  I  assure  you  I  felt  rather  pe- 
culiar in  that  position.  How  easily  the  head  of  a  black 
guardsman  might  pop  out  througli  one  of  the  openings 
in  the  roof — and  then  farewell  to  my  sweet  life !  But 
there  I  was,  caught  in  the  trap,  and  I  was  determined 
not  to  leave  again  until  I  had  a  taste  of  the  bait.  While 
I  was  still  considering  what  I  had  better  do  next,  I  sud- 


•     Through  Night  to  Light.  31 

denly  hear  the  rattling  of  spears  and  of  swords  on  the 
staircase  which  leads  up  to  the  roof  It  was  the  Sultan 
himself,  who  wished  to  admire  Mr.  Cotterby  from  that 
elevation.  I,  in  my  terror,  run  up  to  the  nearest  chim- 
ney which  rose  out  of  the  roof,  creep  into  it,  and — I  had 
not  time  to  think  for  a  moment — down  I  go  some  twenty 
feet  deep — and  where  do  you  think,  gentlemen,  I  came 
out  again .'  In  the  fire-place  of  the  bed-room  of  the  Sul- 
tan's first  favorite.  But  here  I  must  ask  the  pardon  of 
all  the  gentlemen  present  if,  to  spare  the  honor  of  a 
great  lady,  I  can  only  assure  them  that  the  next  twenty- 
four  hours  were  among  the  happiest  which  Caspar 
Schmenckel  has  ever  enjoyed  in  this  life.  On  the  day 
following,  Cotterby  brought,  as  a  matter  of  precaution, 
a  much  larger  wheelbarrow,  and  carried  me  safely  down 
again.  We  left  Constantinople  that  very  night,  and 
from  that  moment  our  company  was  richer  by  one  great 
artist,  and  the  harem  of  the  Sultan  hgid  lost  its  fairest 
flower." 

Mr.  Schmenckel  looked  around  him  triumphantly. 
He  could  well  be  satisfied  with  the  impression  which  he 
had  made  bv  his  stories  on  his  audience ;  they  sat  there 
listening  witli  breathless  attention.  At  that  moment  a 
lady  came  running  into  the  room  ;  it  was  the  same  one 
who  used  to  sit  at  the  ticket  office,  and  who  attended  to 
all  the  domestic  affairs  of  the  company ;  she  whispered 
a  few  words  in  the  director's  ear,  of  which  the  company 
only  heard  one  or  two,  which  sounded  like  "  woman — 
run  aAvay."  The  director  did  not  seem  to  be  pleased 
with  the  information.  His  face  darkened  perceptibly. 
He  grumbled  something  about  the  devil  and  his  luck, 
and  left  the  table  without  finishing  his  glass — a  proof 
that  the  news  he  had  just  received  must  have  been  of  the 
utmost  importance. 

And  the  news  Avas  important,  for  it  amounted  to 
nothing  less  than  that  the  fair  flower,  which  Mr.  Sch- 
menckel had  stolen  ten  years  ago  with  so  much  daring 
and  such  cunning  from  the  palace  of  the  Lord  of  the  Faith- 
ful, had  been  lost  again.  Alas  !  he  had  allowed  her  to 
rest  ever  since  on  his  broad  bosom,  he  had  seen  the  ten- 
der bud  of  the  beauteous  flower  unfold  itself  under  his 


32  T/iroiigh  N'ig/it  to  Light. 

watchful  care,  and  now  both  flower  and  bud  had  been 
torn  away  by  a  storm,  carried  off  by  the  deeply-injured 
Sultan,  or  at  least  they  could  not  be  found  anywhere  in 
their  chamber  or  in  the  whole  house !  Mamselle  Adele 
had  made  the  discovery  as  she  was  about  to  invite  the 
gypsy  to  the  common  supper  of  the  ladies  of  the  com- 
pany, which  was  laid  in  another  room.  Mamselle  Adele, 
a  lady  with  an  abundance  of  black  curls,  the  genuine- 
ness of  which  Avas  strongly  suspected  by  envious  rivals, 
a  dark  face  full  of  energy,  and  an  ever  hoarse,  rough 
voice,  informed  Mr.  Schmenckel  of  her  discovery  with 
that  gift  of  the  gab  and  that  dramatic  power  which  is 
given  to  ladies  who  are  in  the  habit  of  addressing  the 
public  from  the  open  steps  of  a  wooden  booth.  The 
news  was  soon  confirmed  by  the  result  of  a  thorough 
search  of  the  vholejiouse,  in  which  he  himself  took  the 
lead ;  it  fell  upon  him  like  a  flash  of  lightning  from  a 
clear  sky.  The  e.scape  of  the  gypsy  woman  was  to  him 
what  the  death  of  his  best  lioness  and  her  cub  Avould 
have  been  to  the  owner  of  a  menagerie.  He  lost  in  the 
mother  and  child  a  capital  which  had  cost  him  next  to 
nothing,  and  which  yet  promised  to  produce  abundant 
interest — the  ornament,  the  glory,  the  poetr}'-  of  his  es- 
tablishment. Even  jNIr.  John  Cotterby,  of  Egypt,  might 
have  been  replaced  more  easily.  Flying  Pigeons  are 
rare,  but  after  all  they  can  be  procured  ;  but  a  genius 
with  such  eyes,  such  deep,  brown  eyes,  with  such  a 
kindly,  serious  smile,  that  could  tempt  the  stingiest 
green-grocer  to  lavish  profusion,  was  not  to  be  found 
again.  Mr.  Schmenckel  Avoidd  not  have  been  a  man 
and  a  director,  and  above  all  he  would  have  had  to  drink, 
instead  of  so  many  glasses  of  bitter  beer,  as  many  gallons 
of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  if  he  had  borne  such  a 
loss  with  stoic  repose.  Mr.  Schmenckel  was  a  man,  he 
Avas  a  director,  he  had  been  drinking  beer  and  not  milk 
— and  Mr.  Schmenckel  gave  himself  up  to  fearful  Avrath. 
The  first  explosion  fell  very  naturally  upon  the  bearer 
of  the  bad  ncAvs,  especially  as  Mr.  Schmenckel  had  had 
full  opportunity  during  the  many  years  of  their  intimacy 
to  become  aAA^are  of  the  jealous  temper  of  this  lady,  as 
Avell  as  of  her  other  foibles.     He  accused  her  in  terms 


Through  Night  to  Light.  t^i 

Avhich  onc^ht  to  be  impossible  even  among-  the  most  in- 
timate friends,  of  having  compelled  the  g3'psy  by  her  in- 
trigues to  seek  safety  in  flight.  Mamselle  Adele,  whose 
temper  was  naturally  not  of  the  gentlest,  and  who  found 
herself  in  this  case  considered  guilty  when  slie  was  really 
quite  innocent,  replied  in  a  tone  which  betrayed  her  in- 
ner excitement  but  too  distinctly.  Mr.  Schmenckel  be- 
longed to  that  class  of  heroic  men  who,  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  their  superiority — especially  Avhen  they  have 
drunk  deep — allow  of  no  contradiction,  and  whose  proud 
motto  in  decisive  moments  is:  "Works,  not  words." 
Mamselle  Adele  no  sooner  felt  the  heavy  hand  of  her 
master  upon  her  cheeks  than  her  burning  heart  burst 
forth  in  flames,  and  her  tongue  began  to  ring  the  alarm- 
bell  with  such  loudness  and  shrillness  that  the  guests 
inside  started  up  from  their  seats  and  hurried  to  the 
door,  apprehending  that  some  dire  calamity  had  taken 
place  in  the  hall,  where  the  scene  between  Mr.  Schmenc- 
kel and  Mamselle  Adele  was  then  under  way. 

The  sight  of  so  many  uninvited  and  undesirable  wit- 
nesses brought  the  director,  Avho  was  always  anxiously 
concerned  for  the  good  name  of  his  troop,  very  quickly 
to  his  senses ;  but  the  poor  lady,  who  saw  her  honor 
thus  compromised  before  a  great  crowd,  was  exaspe- 
rated beyond  endurance.  So  far  she  had  only  threatened 
to  let  the  director  feel  her  nails ;  now  she  added  the  act 
to  the  threat.  The  highly-cultivated  public  of  Fich- 
tenan,  as  far  as  it  had  assembled  at  the  Green  Hat,  were 
unspeakably  shocked  when  they  saw  the  celebrated 
artist,  the  hero  of  so  many  adventures,  the  master  of  the 
far-famed  pyramid-climber,  the  robber  of  the  Grand 
Sultan's  own  palace,  in  such  a  state  of  suflTering.  Mam- 
selle Adele's  attacks  did  not  cease  for  a  moment;  they 
were  even  carried  out  with  irresistible  energy,  force,  and 
agility.  Some  wished  to  come  to  the  assistance  of  the 
defeated  general ;  others  laughed  and  encouraged  her  ; 
still  others,  men  in  blue  blouses  and  heavy  hob-nailed 
shoes,  who  were  regular  customers  at  the  Green  Hat 
with  their  wagons  and  horses,  and  bore  no  good-will  to 
the  rope-dancers,  because  they  interfered  with  their 
accustomed  comfort,  spoke  loud  of  "  rabble,"  and  "  turn 

2* 


34  Through  Night  to  Light. 

them  out,"  a  sentiment  which  in  its  turn  displeased  a 
few  enthusiastic  admirers  of  high  art.  Angry  faces, 
threatening  arms  lifted  high,  and  curses  loud  and  many, 
formed  a  tableau,  which  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  was 
changed  into  another,  in  which  even  the  landlord  of  the 
Green  Hat,  Avho  was  leaning  against  the  kitchen  door 
in  phlegmatic  composure,  his  pipe  between  his  lips, 
could  no  longer  distinguish  any  details.  Dense  clouds 
of  dust  half  concealed  and  half  revealed  a  heap  of  strug- 
gling men,  rolling  to  and  fro  on  the  floor  of  the  inn, 
while  everybody  was  striking  out  with  his  natural 
weapon  of  the  fist,  or  the  artificial  weapon  of  a  leg  of  a 
chair,  against  his  real  or  imaginary  adversary. 


CHAPTER  V. 

|SWALD  had  been  hospitably  provided  for  in  the 
elegant  "  Kurhaus  "  of  Fichtenan,  but  he  had  not 
been  able  to  resist  the  desire  to  visit  little  Czika 
that  same  evening.  He  hoped  to  learn  from  the  Brown 
Countess  how  they  had  become  mixed  up  with  such 
strange  company,  and  at  the  same  time  to  persuade  her 
either  to  return  to  Baron  Oldenburg,  or  at  least  to  give 
up  the  child  to  him.  He  thought  he  should  be  able  to 
accomplish  b}'  management  what  the  violence  of  the 
baron  had  rendered  impossible,  and  this  all  the  more 
readily  as  the  Brown  Countess  seeined  to  be  kindly  dis- 
posed towards  him,  and  little  Czika  evidently  felt  more 
confidence  in  himself  than  in  the  "  other,"  who  was  her 
father.  And  then  there  was  still  another  feeling  besides 
the  personal  interest  which  he  felt  in  the  beautiful  child 
and  the  gypsy,  whom  he  had  first  met  on  that  eventful 
afternoon  when  he  was  lost  in  the  forest  on  his  way  to 
Melitta,  and  who,  therefore,  had  in  a  manner  been  the 
instrument  to  bring  him  to  Melitta,  to  say  nothing  of 
their  subseqvient  connection  with  Oldenburg,  all  of 
which  prompted  him  to  act  energetically.     He  felt  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  35 

burden  of  the  gratitude  which  he  owed  to  Oldenburg 
for  his  chivalrous  assistance  at  Bruno's  death,  and  in 
the  duel  with  Felix.  He  did  not  like  to  be  under  such 
obligations  to  a  man  against  whom  he  had  felt  a  strong 
antipathy  from  the  beginning,  and  whom  he  had  after- 
wards, in  the  days  of  his  love  of  Mclitta,  feared  as 
his  most  dangerous  rival  —  a  man  whose  determined 
strength  of  will  had  something  imposing  to  him  in  spite 
of  his  reluctance  to  acknowledge  it,  and  whom  he  yet 
accused — heaven  knows  with  what  justice! — of  dupli- 
city and  inconsistency  !  —  a  man  who  had  betrayed  him 
all  these  days  in  the  most  humiliating  manner,  if  the  rela- 
tions between  Oldenburg  and  Melitta  were  at  all  like 
what  they  were  represented  to  be  by  the  family  Barne- 
witz  and  other  friendly  spies  and  gossips.  If  he  could 
now  succeed  in  rescuing  the  child  which  he  had  almost 
given  up,  and  render  him  the  very  great  service  of  restor- 
ing it  to  him — then  the  oppressive  debt  of  gratitude  was 
paid,  he  had  acquitted  himself  of  all  he  owed,  and  Os- 
wald Stein  had  no  reason  to  cast  down  his  eyes  before 
Baron  Oldenburg,  if  fate  should  ever  array  them  in  a 
hostile  manner  against  each  other — and  the  young  ma;n 
apprehended  that  such  a  moment  might  come. 

These  thoughts  and  feelings  filled  Oswald's  heart  as 
he  followed  a  servant  from  the  Kurhaus  through  the 
silent  streets  of  the  town  towards  the  Green  Hat,  where 
he  had  been  told  by  Franz  he  should  find  the  rope- 
dancers.  Franz  himself  had  remained  at  the  Kurhaus, 
as  he  was  too  discreet  to  intrude  upon  a  secret  which 
was  apparently  kept  from  him.  For  when  he  had  laugh- 
ingly endeavored  to  explain  to  his  friend  how  he  had 
managed  to  interpret,  for  the  benefit  of  the  crowd,  the 
strange  scene  with  the  rope-dancer's  child,  Oswald  had 
remained  perfectly  silent,  and  Franz  had  seen  no  other 
way  to  explain  this  reticence  than  by  supposing  that 
his  companion  was  either  not  willing  or  not  at  liberty 
to  give  any  further  explanations  about  the  matter.  When 
Oswald,  therefore,  remarked  it  would  probably  be  too 
late  that  evening  to  pay  a  visit  to  Berger,  he  had  simply 
answered  :  "  I  think  so  !  "  and  refrained  from  offering  his 
company;  when  Oswald,  after  walking  up  and  down  in 


^6  Through  A'ight  to  Light. 

his  room  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  perfect  silence,  had 
at  last  declared  his  intention  to  take  a  walk  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening.  Franz  adapted  himself  all  the  more 
readily  to  the  fancies  of  his  companion,  as  he  v.-as  busily 
occupied  at  that  moment  with  his  own  affairs.  He  had 
hoped  to  find  in  Fichtenan  a  letter  from  his  betrothed, 
but  his  hopes  had  not  been  fulfilled.  This  disappoint- 
ment caused  him  some  apprehension,  as  Sophie  gene- 
rally wrote  very  punctually,  and  they  had  come  to 
Fichtenan  several  days  later  than  they  had  originally 
intended.  He  consoled  himself,  however,  with  the  hope 
that  the  last  mail,  which  was  expected  every  moment, 
might  yet  bring  him  the  much-desired  letter. 

in  the  meantime  Oswald  arrived  at  the  hospitable 
shelter  of  the  Green  Hat  at  the  very  moment  when  it 
sent  a  part  of  the  odd  crowd  that  had  assembled  there 
that  evening  through  the  open  house-door  into  the 
street,  where  the  conflict  in  large  masses,  as  it  had  been 
carried  on  in  the  hall,  changed  into  a  fight  between  iso- 
lated groups.  For  a  moment  they  blazed  up,  like  the 
remains  of  an  exhausted  fire,  only  to  sink  the  next  mo- 
rhent  into  utter  night  for  want  of  fuel.  Peace  was  soon 
restored,  for  nobody  knew  exactly  Avhy  they  had  been 
fighting  each  other  with  such  rage,  and  there  were  quite 
enough  closed  eyes  and  bruised  limbs  for  sucli  an  in- 
tangible cause  of  war.  The  excitement,  it  is  true,  was 
not  allayed,  and  there  was  still  a  good  deal  of  noise,  but 
it  was  only  the  long  swell  of  the  ocean  after  theviolenc^e 
of  the  storm  has  been  broken.  They  cursed  and  swore, 
they  bragged  and  threatened — but  they  sat  down  again 
and  drowned  the  last  remains  of  hostility  in  beer. 

Oswald  was  so  anxious  about  Czika  that  he  had  not 
been  so  much  disgusted  with  the  horrible  scene  as  he 
wo\dd  have  been  under  other  circumstances.  Fortu- 
nately he  saw  neither  the  child  nor  Xcnobia  in  the 
crowd,  but  the  mere  thouglit  that  they  might  have  been 
mixed  up  with  such  a  pandemonium  was  terrible  to  him, 
and  he  determined  to  remove  them  at  any  hazard.  He 
pushed  his  way  through  the  noisy  figliting  crowd,  who 
did  not  notice  him  at  all,  and  inquired  of  the  one  and  the 
other  why  they  were  fighting,  and  where  Xcnobia  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  37. 

gypsy  was,  with  her  child  ?  No  one  had  time  or  inclina- 
tion to  answer  his  questions,  until  at  last  he  happened 
to  speak  to  a  young  man  who  looked  a  little  less  rowdy- 
ish  than  the  rest,  and  who  told  him  that  some  members 
of  the  rope-dancer's  troop  had  run  away,  a  gypsy  woman 
and  her  daughter,  and  that  this  had  given  rise  to  a  gen- 
eral fight.  He  pointed  out  to  him  a  man  who  was  wiping 
the  blood  off  his  face  and  speaking  with  most  animated 
gesticulations,  intimating  that  that  was  the  director, 
and  that  he  would  probably  be  able  to  tell  him  all  he 
desired  to  know. 

Oswald  felt  greatly  relieved  when  he  heard  this. 
Xenobia  and  Czika  were  gone,  and  it  mattered  little 
where  they  had  gone  to,  so  they  were  free  from  this 
association.  He  considered  for  a  moment  whether  he 
had  better  return  without  having  anything  more  to  do 
with  the  rope-dancers ;  but  the  desire  to  hear  more,  and 
to  ascertain,  perhaps,  the  place  to  which  the  fugitives 
might  have  escaped,  overcame  his  reluctance,  and  he 
addressed  the  person  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  him 
as  the  director. 

Mr.  Schmenckel  was  a  man  of  remarkable  elasticity 
of  mind,  and  h.  d  readily  recovered  the  imperilled  har- 
mony of  his  soul  after  the  battle,  from  which  he  had 
come  forth  covered  with  honorable  wounds.  As  soon 
as  the  first  storm  of  his  passions  had  subsided  a  little,  he 
generally  exhibited  a  high  degree  of  that  philosophic 
resignation  which  submits  with  dignity  to  the  inevitable, 
and  makes  every  effort  to  adapt  itself  to  the  circum- 
stances. Since  the  gypsy  woman  was  gone,  all  lamenta- 
tions about  his  loss  would  only  make  him  ridiculous, 
and  it  became  a  noble  character  to  forgive  and  forget. 
He  pretended,  therefore,  to  ignore  the  whole  occurrence, 
and  treated  it  as  something  by  no  means  unexpected. 
"Ingratitude  is  tlie  world's  reward — easily  won,  easily 
lost — to-day  it  is  I,  to-morrow  it  is  another.  Let  us  sit 
down  again,  gentlemen.  Director  Schmenckel  is  not  so 
easily  thrown  out  of  gear.  We  have  other  means  still  in 
reserve  to  entertain  a  highly-honored  public,  and  you 
shall  see  that  the  performance  which  I  shall  have  the 
honor  to  give  to-morrow  —  what  does   the   gentleman 


38  Through  Night  to  Light. 

wish? — you  wish  to  speak  to  me?  I  am  at  your  service 
— a  director  must  be  always  ready."  Mr.  Schmenckel 
followed  Oswald,  who  had  asked  him  for  a  few  moments' 
conversation,  very  readily,  since  the  circumstance  that 
an  elegantly-dressed  gentleman  came  all  the  way  to  the 
Green  Hat  in  order  to  have  an  interview  with  Director 
Schmenckel,  was  well  calculated  to  make  a  sensation. 

*'  What  does  your  excellency  desire  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  when  they  were  in  the  hall. 

"  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  give  me  some  infor- 
mation about  the  gypsy  woman,  who,  I  am  told,  has  left 
your  company  this  evening." 

Mr.  Schmenckel  was  startled ;  the  question  sounded 
suspicious.  He  availed  himself  of  the  light  of  the  lamp 
before  the  house — for  they  had  reached  the  street  by  this 
time — to  examine  Oswald's  face  more  carefully,  and  he 
now  recognized  in  him  the  gentleman  whom  the  Czika 
had  embraced.  Mr.  Schmenckel  knew  at  once  how  the 
matter  stood.  This  young  gentleman  was  an  immensely 
rich  lord  who  had  a  mania  for  gypsies,  and  was  in  the 
habit  of  buying  up  young  gypsy  children  for  his  amuse- 
ment. Mr.  Schmenckel  reflected  that  the  woman  might 
possibly  return,  and  that  the  greater  his  claims  were 
upon  her,  the  higher  the  price  he  might  ask  for  the  child. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  in  order  to  gain  time  for  considera- 
tion, "why  would  your  excellency  like  to  know?  " 

"  That  does  not  matter,"  replied  Oswald ;  "  it  will  suffice 
for  you  that  I  do  not  mean  to  leave  the  man  who  gives 
me  the  information  I  desire  to  obtain  unrewarded,"  and 
he  slipped  a  dollar  into  Mr.  Schmenckel's  hand. 

"  Thanks,  your  excellency,"  replied  Mr.  Schmenckel, 
whose  suspicions  were  only  confirmed  by  Oswald's  libe- 
rality, "  nevertheless  I  should  like  to " 

"  But  I  do  not  understand  why  you  should  hesitate  to 
tell  me  what  little  you  may  possibly  know  about  the 
woman  ?" 

"Well,"  replied  Mr.  Schmenckel,  "perliaps  it  is  not 
so  very  little  I  know  about  her.  When  one  has  had 
somebody  thirteen  years  in  the  company " 

"  But  I  have  met  the  gypsy  only  this  summer  at — 
never  mind,  not  very  far  from  here,  and  quite  alone." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  39 

"That  may  ycrj  Avell  be,"  replied  the  cunning  direc- 
tor; "it  is  not  the  first  time  to-night  that  Xenobia  has 
run  awav,  but  she  has  always  come  back  again." 

"  Thirteen  years  !  "  said  Oswald,  who  did  not  think  for 
A  moment  of  doubting  the  fable;  "how  old  was  the 
child,  then,  when  she  came  to  join  you?  " 

"  How  old?  "  said  Mr.  Schmcnckel.  "Why,  your  ex- 
cellency, when  she  came  to  us,  she  had  no  child.  I 
know  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  ha,  ha,  ha!  " 

"  You?  "  said  Oswald,  and  he  shuddered.     "You  ?  " 

"Well!  why  not?  Do  I  look  to  your  excellency's 
eye  as  if  a  pretty  young  woman  could  not  possibly 
fall  in  love  with  me;  and  did  not  this  girl,  moreover, 
take  wages  from  me?  I  can  tell  your  excellency  that  I 
have  made  very  different  conquests  in  my  time.  Has 
your  excellency  ever  been  in  St.  Petersburg?  There 
is  the  Princess — but,  after  all,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
speak  as  freely  of  such  a  great  lady  as " 

"  In  one  Avord,"  said  Oswald,  scarcely  able  to  restrain 
himself,  "the  Czika  is  your  child?  " 

"  I  couldn't  swear  to  that,"  said  jNIr.  Schmenckel,  smil- 
ing, "  bvit  I  can  take  my  oath  that  she  might  be  my  child, 
and  that  I  have  always  looked  vipon  her  in  that  light." 

"  And  you  think  the  gypsy  will  come  back  again  ?  " 

"  Oh,  your  excellency  may  rely  upon  that ;  she  is 
never  as  well  off  as  when  she  stays  with  me." 

"  But  why  does  she  run  away  so  often,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  just  think  of  it,  your  excellency;  women  are  a 
strange  kind  of  people,"  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  philoso- 
phizing, "  and  the  kinder  you  are  to  them,  the  sooner 
they  will  play  you  some  trick  or  other.  There  is  no 
truth  and  no  faith  among  them,  and  especially  these 
gypsies " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Oswald,  who  was  overcome  Avith 
disgust,  "we  will  talk  about  that  some  other  time." 

And  he  went  away  quickly. 

Director  Schmenckel  followed  him  Avith  his  eye  for 
awhile,  shook  his  head,  put  the  dollar,  which  he  was  still 
holding  in  his  hand,  in  his  pocket,  laughed  and  returned 
into  the  public  room,  feeling  very  happy  in  the  pleasant 
conviction  that  he  had  cheated  a  greenhorn.     Within, 


40  Through  Night  to  Light. 

peace  had  in  the  meantime  recovered  its  sway,  and  the 
whole  company  liad  joined  in  singing  the  favorite  bal- 
lad: "Blue  blooms  a  blossom." 

While  Oswald  was  receiving  this  doubtful  informa- 
tion about  the  true  history  of  poor  little  Czika  from  the 
truth-loving  lips  of  Director  Schmenckel,  Franz  was 
waiting  for  his  return  with  painful  impatience.  The 
mail  had  really  brought  him  the  long-desired  letter  from 
his  betrothed,  but  unfortunately  had  also  confirmed  the 
vague  apprehensions  which  had  of  late  troubled  his 
mind.  Sophie  wrote  in  a  hand  almost  illegible  from 
anxiety,  that  lier  father  had  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis, 
from  which  the  physicians  feared  the  very  worst.  Her 
father,  she  added,  was  at  that  moment,  several  hours 
after  the  attack,  still  speechless  and  unable  to  move.  If 
there  were  any  hope  for  her  father,  help  could  only  come 
from  Him  whom  she  looked  up  to  with  trusting  confi- 
dence and  perfect  submission. 

Franz  had  formed  his  resolution  instantly.  As  the 
driver  who  had  brought  them  to  this  place  declared  he 
was  unable  to  go  any  further,  he  had  at  once  ordered 
post-horses,  in  order  to  reach  the  nearest  railway  station 
that  night.  To  think  of  his  sweet-love  in  such  bitter 
need  and  sorrow — watching  and  weeping  by  the  sick- 
bed, perhaps  already  by  the  coffin  of  her  father — and  he, 
her  comfort  and  her  hope,  some  four  hundred  miles 
away — all  this  was  enough  to  disturb  even  so  firm  a 
heart  as  that  of  Doctor  Braun's  was  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances. He  felt  as  if  the  ground  was  burning 
under  his  feet.  The  few  minutes  before  the  carriage 
could  be  made  ready,  seemed  to  him  an  eternity. 

At  last  he  heard  the  horses  coming,  and  Oswald  also 
returned.  Franz  told  him  the  sad  news  he  had  just  re- 
ceived, and  what  he  had  determined  to  do.  He  begged 
his  friend,  in  a  few  parting  words,  not  to  prolong  his 
stay  at  Fichtenan  beyond  what  was  absolutely  necessary, 
and  above  all  to  be  punctually  at  the  appointed  time  at 
his  post  in  Grunwald.  Oswald  had  been  so  thoroughly 
excited  by  the  many  extraordinary  occurrences  of  the 
last  hours  that  he  apparently  expected  nothing  but  sur- 
prises, and  thus  he  received  his  friend's  communications 


Through  A'ig/ii  to  Light.  41 

witli  an  air  of  indifference.  He  promised,  however, 
■what  Franz  asked  of  him,  as  he  accompanied  him  to  the 
carriaj^e. 

"What  do  you  say,  Oswald,"  said  Franz,  who  had 
already  settled  himself  down  in  the  carriage  ;  "  Come 
along  with  me' !  You  may  find  my  proposal  somewhat  ex- 
traordinary, but  the  strangest  way  is  often  the  best  way." 

"  I  cannot  do  it,  Franz,"  said  Oswald.  "  I  cannot 
leave  here  without  having  seen  Bergcr,  and  besides " 

"  I  know  all  you  can  possibly  say  on  that  subject," 
replied  Franz,  "  and  I  must  tell  yovi  frankly  that  I  have 
no  good  reason  whatever  for  making  the  proposition. 
But  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  not  to  leave  you  here  alone — as 
if  there  was  something  in  the  air  here  that  boded  you 
no  good.     Come  with  me,  Oswald !  " 

"  I  will  follow  you  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  Then  farewell  !     Go  on,  driver  !  " 

Franz  once  more  pressed  Oswald's  hand.  The  car- 
riage rattled  over  the  vmeven  pavement  of  the  little  town 
and  disappeared  around  a  corner. 

"  What  a  pity  the  gentleman  had  to  leave  so  soon," 
said  Louis,  the  liead  waiter  at  the  Kurhaus,  who  was 
standing  near  Oswald,  a  napkin  under  his  arm  and  a 
pen  behind  the  ear.  "  A  most  pleasing  gentleman — 
would  you  like  to  have  supper  now",  sir.?  You  will  find 
very  pleasing  company  in  the  dining-room,  sir." 

Oswald  went  back  into  the  house.  If  Franz  could 
have  repeated  his  request  at  that  moment,  Oswald  would 
not  have  refused  again  to  accompany  him.  For  since 
Franz  had  left  him  he  felt  as  if  his  guardian  angel  had 
abandoned  him,  and  as  if  the  air  of  Fichtenan  was  really 
laden  with  mischief. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

,N  the  next  morning  Oswald  awoke  late  from  his 
broken  slumbers,  which  had  been  much  disturbed 
by  strange  haunted  dreams.    Melitta,  whom  he  had 
so  ardently  loved  but  a  short  time  ago,  had  appeared  to 


42  Through  Night  to  Light. 

him,  her  fair,  pale  face  disfigured  by  sorrow,  her  brown, 
gentle  eyes  overflowing  with  tears,  and  looking  at  him 
with  an  expression  of  ineffable  sadness.  Thus  she  had  sat 
by  him — her  sad,  sweet  smile  on  her  swelling  lips,  which 
he  had  so  often  kissed  in  drunken  love !  And  Oswald's 
heart  had  been  overflowing  with  love  and  pity.  He  had 
forgotten  all  that  had  come  between  her  and  himself — 
the  bad  weeds  sown  by  whispering  tongues  which  had 
grown  up  to  maturity  so  suddenly,  thanks  to  the  fickle- 
ness of  his  own  heart ;  he  had  forgotten  everything — 
except  the  remembrance  of  those  sunny  days  of  inex- 
pressible happiness.  And  he  had  thrown  himself  at  her 
feet  and  shed  tears,  bitter-sweet  tears  upon  her  knees, 
and  stammered  words  of  repentance,  and  implored  her 
forgiveness.  Then  an  icy-cold  hand  had  been  laid  on 
his  brow,  and  as  he  looked  up  it  was  no  longer  Melitta, 
but  Professor  Berger;  but  not  the  man  of  the  melan- 
choly humor  and  the  biting  satire,  who  had  so  often  sat 
opposite  to  him  with  his  sardonic  smile  on  the  mysteri- 
ous lips  when  they  met  at  aesthetic  teas,  but  a  grue- 
some mask  of  wax,  motionless  and  silent.  And  of  a 
sudden  it  had  begun  to  quiver  and  to  stir  in  that  cold, 
rigid  face  of  the  mask,  as  when  somebody  tries  to  speak 
and  the  tongue  refuses  to  serve  him ;  then  the  mask  had 
actually  spoken,  not  in  human  language,  but  in  a  mys- 
tic idiom,  of  things  half  intelligible,  half  mysterious,  of 
unspeakable,  fearful  things  —  awful  secrets  of  another 
world. 

Oswald  had  not  been  able  to  endure  the  horror  any 
longer,  and  his  soul  had  made  a  desperate  effort  to  rise 
from  the  intolerable  twilight  into  the  bright  light  of 
day.  But  the  light  of  day  had  not  brought  him  the  right 
kind  of  cheerfulness,  for  the  visions  of  the  night  still  cast 
their  spectral  shadows  upon  the  day.  Woe  to  him  whose 
heart  is  not  clear  of  sin  !  Woe  to  him  whose  heart  con- 
ceals recollections,  which  he  drives  away  with  a  slight 
frown,  when  they  obtrude  upon  him  in  moments  of  wake- 
fulness and  preparation  !  He  may  well  see  to  it.  What 
dreams  are  coming  to  him  in  his  sleep.'' 

Oswald  sj3ent  the  whole  forenoon  in  this  painful  state 
of  mind.     He  could  not  summon  courage  to  undertake 


Through  Night  to  Light.  43 

the  painful  task  of  going  to  Doctor  Birkcnhain's  Asy- 
lum;  he  postponed  the  visit  till  the  afternoon,  and  tried 
to  persuade  himself  tliat  he  would  then  be  in  better  hu- 
mor, and  better  prepared  to  stand  once  more  before  Ber- 
ger,  i-ACC  to  face.  He  went  down  to  take  his  dinner  at 
the  table-d'hote,  where  he  found,  in  spite  of  the  advanced 
season,  quite  a  number  of  persons  still,  who  were  either 
drinking  the  waters  of  the  place  or  travelling  for  their 
amusement.  He  sat  quietly  sipping  his  wine,  and  amused 
himself  with  listening  to  the  brilliant  conversation  of 
some  commercial  travellers,  as  it  flitted  to  and  fro,  touch- 
ing a  thousand  subjects,  and  among  them  also  the  es- 
cape of  the  gypsy  woman  and  her  child,  and  the  "  enor- 
mous row  "  which  had  arisen  in  consequence,  disturbing 
the  peace  of  the  Green  Hat  and  the  nightly  rest  of  a  con- 
siderable part  of  the  little  town.  Some  of  the  young 
gentlemen  who  had  witnessed  the  exhibition  on  the  great 
meadow  enlightened  more  recent  arrivals  as  to  the 
beauty  of  the  gypsy,  and  regretted  eloquently  the  dis- 
appearance of  that  "  famous  person."  The  little  one, 
also,  was  represented  as  a  "famous  "  thing,  with  really 
"  famous  "  eyes.  An  eccentric  Englishman,  who  had 
been  near  the  stage,  they  added,  had  instantly  fallen  in 
love  with  her,  and  there  was  no  doubt  at  all  but  that  this 
Englishman,  of  whom  no  one  had  afterwards  seen  or 
heard  anything  more,  had  eloped  with  the  gypsy  girl. 

Oswald  was  rather  troubled  by  these  authentic  reports 
for  the  fate  of  Xenobia  and  the  Czika,  and  left  the  table 
for  the  purpose  of  returning  to  his  room.  He  was  nat- 
urally less  than  ever  disposed  now  to  call  upon  Berger, 
and  he  hnd  therefore  to  make  a  great  effort  at  last  to  ring 
for  the  waiter,  and  to  inquire  of  him  the  way  to  Doctor 
Birkenhain's  institution. 

"  Doctor  Birkenhain's  asylum,  sir  ?  Quite  near  by,  sir. 
The  best  way  is  through  our  garden  up  the  hill,  then, 
always  turning  to  the  left,  on  the  height  along  the  river, 
until  you  come  to  a  large  house.  That  is  Doctor  Birk- 
enhain's asylum.  You  have  perhaps  a  relation  of  yours 
there  .-*  We  have  many  people  coming  here  who  have 
relations  at  Doctor  Birkenhain's.  Only  this  summer 
there  was  a  lady  here  from  your  country,  who  stayed 


44  Through  Night  to  Light. 

several  months  at  the  house.  Very  beautiful  lady,  sir ; 
perhaps  you  may  know  her ;  a  Frau  von  Berkow,  with 
her  brother,  a  Baron  Oldenburg — very  tall  gentleman, 
with  a  black  beard " 

"  Is  Baron  Oldenburg  a  brother  of  that  lady?  "  asked 
Oswald,  not  without  some  reluctance. 

"  Wliy,  certainly,  sir.  The  gentleman  and  the  lady 
were  at  least  two  weeks  here,  and  always  together.  But 
the  brother  had  to  leave  before  the  lady's  husband  died 
— what  a  misfortune  for  such  a  beautiful  lady !  Will 
you  be  back  in  time  for  supper,  sir .'  No  }  But  you  will 
certainly  stay  over  night,  sir.?  Oh,  I  thought  so — of 
course.  Nothing  else  I  can  do  for  you,  sir.?  How  far 
is  it .?  Oh,  at  most,  ten  minutes'  walk.  I'll  show  you  tlie 
way,  sir. 

When  the  loquacious  waiter  had  at  last  left  him,  Os- 
wald walked  slowly  along  the  path  which  followed  the 
slope  of  the  low  range  of  hills.  On  the  left  hand  prattled 
merrily  a  clear  mountain  brook,  rich  in  trouts,  which 
gave  its  name  to  the  town,  and  flowed  evenly  beneath 
tall  trees.  Here  and  there  the  water  peeped  out  from 
between  the  dense  foliage,  but  only  to  disappear  again, 
like  a  playful  child  that  likes  to  tease.  At  one  point  the 
brook  had  been  stopped  and  forced  to  turn  the  wheels 
of  a  mill.  The  little  vagabond  did  not  seem  to  like  tlie 
delay.  It  poured  its  waters  wrathfully  into  the  mill-race, 
shook  and  struck  the  buckets  with  all  its  might,  and  then 
rushed  off,  foaming  and  pelting,  in  angry  haste. 

Oswald  sat  down  on  the  low  railing  opposite  the  mill, 
and  looked  wearily  into  the  water,  as  it  played  and 
purled,  drawing  wide  circles  and  pushing  wave  after 
wave.  He  thought  of  Melitta,  how  often  she  had  proba- 
bly come  down  this  way,  hanging  on  the  arm  of  "  her 
brother,"  and  stopping  no  doubt  frequently  at  this  very 
spot,  whose  picturesque  beauty  could  not  have  escaped 
her  attention. 

He  felt  sad  unto  death.  His  feelings  boiled  within 
him  as  the  waters  did  in  the  mill-race ;  his  thoughts  were 
whirling  around  like  the  foam-bubbles  on  the  surface. 
Was  his  hatred  to  be  as  blind  as  his  love.?  Was  there 
anything  wrong  and  anything  right  in  the  world .? — the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  45 

world  to  be  a  cosmos  ?  Yes,  for  him  whose  glance  was 
content  witli  skimming  the  surface,  Avherc  the  wa- 
ters llowcd  merrily  over  the  level  ground  in  the  shade 
of  beautiful  trees — but  also  for  him  who  sounded  the 
depths,  where  all  was  rushing  and  roaring  chaotically? 
Up!  up!  to  him,  the  man  of  sorrow!  He  had  sounded 
the  dcptlis  of  life,  he  shall  tell  me  what  he  has  seen  there, 
what  masks  and  spectres,  that  he  should  ever  after  close 
his  eyes  in  horror  and  disgust ! 

Oswald  rose  and  continued  his  journey;  the  path  be- 
came steeper  until  it  led  to  a  large  building,  which  lay 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  highroad  on  a  moderate 
hill,  amid  gardens.  Surrounded  as  it  was  on  all  sides 
by  high  walls,  it  looked  too  much  like  a  castle  to  be  a 
private  residence,  and  yet  too  much  like  a  prison  also 
for  a  castle.     It  was  Dr.  Birkenhain's  asylum. 

Oswald  rang  the  bell  by  the  side  of  the  iron  grating, 
with  some  palpitation  of  heart.  A  window  opened  in 
the  porter's  lodge  ;  the  gate-keeper  looked  out  and  asked 
what  he  wanted. 

Oswald  wished  to  see  Doctor  Birkenhain. 

"Do  you  come  by  appointment.'  " 

"Yes." 

"  Your  name.'  " 

Oswald  gave  his  name. 

The  man  looked  at  a  table,  on  which  the  names  of 
those  Avho  Avere  to  be  admitted  seemed  to  be  written ; 
then  he  put  his  head  out  again,  and  said  through  the 
small  window, 

"  Go  straight  across  the  court  to  the  main  entrance  ; 
there  ring  again  !  " 

The  gate  opened,  and  closed  again  when  Oswald  had 
entered.  He  went  across  the  large  court-yard,  which 
was  covered  with  gravel  and  adorned  here  and  there 
with  groups  of  trees  and  shrubberies,  towards  the 
house.  On  a  bench  under  one  of  the  trees  sat,  amidst  a 
group  of  several  persons,  a  young  man  remarkably  well 
dressed.  When  Osv.-ald  passed  him  he  rose  very  politely, 
and  taking  off  his  hat  and  making  a  deep  bow,  said, 

"  I  have  surely  the  honor  to  address  the  emperor  of 
Fez  and  Morocco  .''  " 


46  Through  Night  to  Light. 

As  Oswald  answered  No  !  to  the  strange  question,  the 
young  man  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  looking  at  Oswald 
with  a  vacant  stare,  he  added, 

"  It  is  very  remarkable  !  the  emperor  had  promised  me 
solemnly  to  come  for  me  this  summer;  and  now  the 
summer  is  nearly  gone  and  the  emperor  has  not  come 
yet.  I  shall  have  to  wait  till  next  summer.  But  then  he 
will  be  here  most  certainly.     Don't  you  think  so .'  " 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it  for  a  moment,"  replied  Oswald.  A 
faint  ray  of  joy  flashed  across  the  pale  face  of  the  unfor- 
tunate man.  He  bowed  again,  put  on  his  hat,  and  went 
back  to  his  seat  on  the  bench. 

Oswald  went  to  the  front  door,  rang  the  bell,  and  a 
servant  who  appeared  at  the  summons  opened  the  door 
for  him  and  showed  him  into  a  parlor.  Then  he  took 
his  name,  and  begged  him  to  wait  a  few  moments.  Doc- 
tor Birkenhain  would  be  in  directly. 

It  was  a  handsome,  lofty  apartment.  A  few  excellent 
oil-paintings  hung  on  the  Avails;  antique  heads  and 
busts  stood  about  on  brackets,  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  the 
Zeus  of  Obricoli,  the  Ludovisi  Juno  ;  upon  the  centre- 
tables  lay  books  and  portfolios  with  engravings.  All 
breathed  the  highest  kind  of  enjoyment,  and  nothing 
reminded  the  visitor  that  he  was  in  a  house  of  disease 
and  death. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  door  opened  and  Doctor  Birk- 
enhain entered.  Oswald  had  of  course  formed  to  himself 
some  idea  of  the  man  who  had  recently  become  so  very 
important  to  him,  and  was  grievously  disappointed  when 
he  found  that  there  was  not  a  feature  of  his  portrait  in 
the  man  before  him.  He  had  imagined  Doctor  Birk- 
enhain to  be  a  venerable  old  man,  full  of  dignity  and 
gravity,  and  now  he  found  himself  standing  before  a 
man  little  older  than  himself — he  had  surely  not  passed 
his  thirtieth  year — tall  and  thin,  with  spare,  light-brown 
hair  and  carefully-trimmed  moustache  and  beard,  a 
pale  face  of  a  sickly,  sallow  color,  a  lofty  brow,  and 
large  light-blue  eyes,  in  which  one  could  instantly  see 
that  they  were  accustomed  to  read  the  hearts  of  men,  and 
whose  intense  piercing  sharpness  became  after  awhile 
almost  unbearable. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  47 

Doctor  Birkenhain  greeted  Oswald  with  due  polite- 
ness, and  then  expressed  his  regret  that  he  shoidd  have 
been  deprived  the  pleasure  of  making  Doctor  Braun's 
acquaintance,  whom  he  had  wished  to  congratulate  upon 
having  secured  to  himself  a  place  among  the  first  phy- 
sicians of  Germany  by  his  admirable  treatise  on  typhus. 
Then  he  added  : 

"  I  have  looked  forward  to  your  visit  with  tlie  great- 
est interest,  because  I  hope  great  things  for  Berger  from 
the  effect  of  your  meeting  with  him.  I  know  through 
Mr.  Bemperlein,  and  also  from  Berger's  own  lips,  that 
you  are  the  most  intimate  friend,  and  so  to  say  the  fa- 
vorite, of  the  unfortunate  man — that  you  were  so  at  least 
before  the  breaking  out  of  his  disease.  If  anything 
can  succeed  in  reviving  once  more  the  interest  in  life 
which  has  been  almost  entirely  extinguished  in  Berger, 
it  is  love — not  the  vmiversal  love  of  mankind,  which  is 
only  another  kind  of  egotism,  but  the  special  love  for  a 
single  individual,  with  whose  joys  and  sorrows  he  can 
heartily  sympathize.  Love  is  the  most  vigorous  of  all 
feelings ;  it  resists  annihilation  better  than  any  other, 
and  outlives  all  others.  The  greatest  psychologist  who 
ever  lived,  and  to  whom  we  physicians  are  deeply  in- 
debted, Shakespeare,  makes  Lear  say  to  the  fool  shortly 
before  insanity  overwhelms  him  :  '  I  have  one  part  in 
my  heart  that's  sorry  yet  for  thee.'  This  one  part  of 
the  heart  is  the  sound  part,  where  the  cure  must  begin, 
and  so  it  is  with  Berger.  I  beg,  therefore,  you  will  try 
to  interest  Berger  by  all  means  in  your  own  fate.  Tell 
him  all  about  your  plans  and  purposes,  your  hopes  and 
your  wishes — about  your  joys  and  your  sorrows ;  speak 
to  him  especially  of  your  griefs,  if  you  have  any — and 
you  will  pardon  such  an  indiscretion  in  a  physician — I 
think  your  confidences  will  be  particularly  ample  in 
that  direction.  You  smile  !  Well,  perhaps  I  am  mis- 
taken, and  what  I  thought  I  read  in  your  face  is  the  re- 
sult of  mere  bodily  uneasiness,  and  not  of  mental  suffer- 
ing ;  but,  however  that  may  be,  do  not  conceal  from 
Berger  the  shady  side,  and  even  the  night  side  of  your 
life.  On  the  contrary,  complain — and  the  more  impres- 
sively, the  more  painfully,  you  can  do  that,  the  better — 


48  Through  Night  to  Light. 

only  mourn  and  grieve  like  a  sick  man,  who  longs  after 
health  like  an  imprisoned  bird  that  yearns  after  free- 
dom. The  sufferings  of  those  we  loye  are  a  thousand 
times  more  touching  to  us  than  our  own,  and  the  bur- 
dens which  Berger  hardly  feels  in  his  own  case  will 
appear  to  him  unbearable  when  he  sees  it  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  one  who  is  dear  to  him.  For,  I  repeat  it,  that  is 
the  only  way  to  approach  such  a  man.  He  is  too  deep 
a  thinker,  too  subtle  a  philosopher,  not  to  be  clad  in 
impenetrable  armor  against  all  reasoning.  If  you  prove 
to  him  the  dignity  and  usefulness  of  life,  he  meets  yovi 
with  ten  arguments  which  prove  the  contrary ;  and  if 
you  split  a  hair,  he  splits  each  half  over  again.  On  the 
other  hand,  you  need  not  fear  that  he  will  involve  you, 
as  formerly,  in  long  philosophic  discussions.  The  sci- 
ence which  was  once  his  delight,  is  now  a  horror  to 
him  ;  he  will  hear  nothing  of  it  and  see  nothing.  And 
now,  one  thing  more  :  how  long  do  you  propose  staying 
in  Fichtenan  1  " 

"  Four  or  five  days  at  most." 

"  Very  well;  I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  not  to  ex- 
tend your  visit  beyond  that.  The  purpose  is  to  make  a 
deep  impression  upon  Berger ;  and  after  the  pleasure  he 
will  feel  at  seeing  you  again,  he  must  experience  the 
pain  of  parting  so  soon.  Perhaps  Ave  may  thus  lure  him 
back  into  the  Avorld,  from  which  he  now  turns  away  in 
disgust." 

"  Has  Berger  been  made  aware  of  my  arrival  ?  " 

"No.  I  wished  to  profit  even  by  the  surprise.  I  shall 
not  go  with  you,  so  that  there  maybe  nothing  to  dimin- 
ish the  surprise.  You  can  tell  me  afterwards  how  he 
received  you.  He  generally  takes  about  this  time  a 
walk  in  the  mountains,  which  he  occasionally  extends 
into  the  night.  I  give  him  perfect  liberty,  as  any 
restraint  would  only  be  injurious.  You  know,  besides, 
that  his  coming  here  was  his  own  wish  and  resolution. 
Go  with  him  when  he  takes  his  walk ;  heart  opens  to 
heart  more  readily  under  the  great  dome  of  heaven  than 
imder  the  ceiling  of  a  room." 

"One  thing  more,"  continued  Doctor  Birkenhain,asthey 
were  risinc:.     "  You  will  find  Berijer  mucli  changed  in 


Through  Night  to  Light.  49 

appearance ;  try  to  influence  him  in  that  direction  also, 
though  of  course  you  will  have  to  use  your  discretion. 
Such  apparent  trifles  are  of  great  importance  ;  a  missing 
glove-button  may  make  a  dandy  lose  his  composure,  and 
we  have  a  different  temper  in  our  dressing  gown  and  in 
evening  dress.  Now  let  us  go,  if  you  like ;  I  will  show 
you  the  way  to  Berger's  door. 

The  two  gentlemen  went  from  the  reception  room 
across  the  hall,  with  its  tessellated  floor,  up  the  wide 
stone  steps,  through  lofty,  airy  passages. 

They  were  met  by  several  persons  w^hom  Oswald 
would  not  have  taken  for  patients  if  Doctor  Birkenhain 
had  not  told  him  so ;  they  gave  such  sensible  answers 
to  the  casual  questions  of  the  physician. 

"  This  wing  is  for  the  slightly-affected  patients,"  said 
Doctor  Birkenhain;  "as  it  is  such  fine  weather  most  of 
them  are  in  the  garden  or  in  the  court-yard.  How  do 
you  do,  counsellor.''  " 

"Thank  you,  doctor,"  replied  an  exceedingly  corpu- 
lent, good-looking  man,  whom  they  met  passing  with  a 
watering-pot  in  his  hand,  "  thank  you,  I  should  be  per- 
fectly well,  if " 

The  counsellor  cast  a  glance  at  Oswald,  and  then 
came  quite  close  to  the  doctor,  whispering  something  in 
his  ear,  of  Avhich  Oswald  could  only  catch  the  words, 
"bundle  of  hay  "  —  "in  my  side."  "Oh,  that  matters 
very  little,"  replied  Birkenhain,  in  a  tone  full  of  confi- 
dence, which  sounded  as  if  it  must  have  been  inspiring 
to  the  greatest  hypochondriac;  "we'll  soon  settle  that." 
The  patient  gratefully  shook  hands  with  his  physician 
and  went  on,  evidently  quite  comforted  and  delighted 
with  the  probable  victory  over  his  imaginary  ailment. 

"  I  wish  Berger's  case  were  as  easy  as  that  man's," 
said  Doctor  Birkenhain,  as  they  were  walking  down  the 
long  passage ;  "  but  pills  and  ointments  have  no  effect  on 
his  complaint.  Here  we  are ;  now  you  go  to  the  end  of 
the  passage,  and  the  last  door  to  the  left  is  Berger's 
room.  I  am  very  curious  to  hear  what  you  will  have  to 
tell  me.  Will  you  dine  with  me  to-morrow.''  I  shall 
take  great  pleasure  in  presenting  you  to  my  wife.  At 
three  o'clock.  Will  you  come.''  Au  revoir^\\\znV' 
3 


5©  Through  Night  to  Light. 

Doctor  Birkenhain  shook  hands  with  Oswald  and  went 
into  one  of  the  rooms  which  they  had  passed.  Oswald 
went  alone  to  the  end  of  the  passage,  full  of  the  deep 
impression  which  the  man  who  had  just  left  him  had 
made  upon  him,  and  at  the  same  time  very  much  trou- 
bled about  the  part  which  he  was  to  play.  He  was  to 
help  Berger  to  recover  his  interest  in  life,  and  he  had 
himself  lost  all  such  interest !  Was  he  not  of  all  men 
the  least  fitted  for  such  a  mission  1  And  yet  he  had  ac- 
cepted it !     He  must  fulfil  it ! 

Oswald  came  to  the  door  which  had  been  pointed  out 
to  him.  Upon  the  brown  panel  was  something  written 
in  chalk,  and  evidently  in  Berger's  hand : 

"  Lasciate  agni  sperauza  voi  ch'  entratc.''^ 

Oswald  shuddered  as  he  read  it.  He  remained  stand- 
ing undecided  before  the  door,  and  it  was  some  time  be- 
fore he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  knock.  He  listened 
if  anything  was  stirring  Avithin  ;  he  heard  nothing.  At 
last  he  summoned  courage  and  knocked  with  a  strong 
hand.  As  no  answer  came,  he  knocked  still  louder; 
again  no  answer.  A  great  fear  overcame  him  ;  he  hastily 
opened  the  door  and  entered  the  room. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

|SWALD  need  not  have  feared.  Berger  was  sitting 
in  the  centre  of  the  darkened  room,  all  the  cur- 
tains being  closed,  before  a  table  covered  with 
books.  He  was  resting  his  liead  in  both  hands,  and 
seemed  to  sleep,  for  he  did  not  stir  even  when  Oswald 
stepped  up  close  to  the  table.  Oswald  did  not  dare 
wake  him.  He  remained  standing  by  the  table  and  looked 
at  the  poor  sufferer,  his  eyes  filling  vmconsciously  with 
tears.  What  havoc  these  few  months  had  made  with  the 
face  once  so  proud,  so  full  of  energy;  the  dark  curling 
hair  was  grizzled ;  the  massive  brow,  hewn  apparently 
out  of  the   live  granite,  appeared  even  more  powerful 


Through  Night  to  Light.  51 

and  imposing-,  thanks  to  the  increased  baldness  at  the 
temples.  A  full  beard,  formerly  an  aversion  to  Berger, 
now  flowed,  silver-gray,  from  cheek,  lips,  and  chin,  so 
that  the  end  nearly  touched  the  table.  His  hands,  once 
so  plump  and  carefully  kept,  had  become  so  thin,  so 
transparent !  And  what  a  costume !  A  blue  smock- 
frock,  instead  of  the  black  coat  which  was  never  allowed 
to  show  a  particle  of  dust ;  a  coarse,  ill-fitting  shirt,  in- 
stead of  the  fine,  dazzling  white  linen  upon  which  he 
formerly  insisted.  On  the  table  a  worn-out  slouched 
hat  and  a  stick,  which  had  evidently  not  long  ago 
formed  part  of  a  hedge  of  thorns,  in  place  of  the  smooth 
silk  hat  from  Paris,  and  the  clouded  cane  with  its  gold 
head !  If  the  outer  man  could  change  to  such  an  extent, 
what  a  revolution  must  have  taken  place  in  the  lowest 
depths  of  the  sovil ! 

Berger  stirred.  He  raised  his  head,  opened  his  eyes, 
and  looked  at  Oswald.  His  eyes  were  deep  and  clear, 
and  looked  larger  than  usual ;  he  did  not  start  nor  be- 
tray astonishment,  Avonder,  or  fear,  at  the  unexpected 
sight. 

"  I  had  but  just  now  dreamt  of  you,  Osw^ald,"  he 
said,  rising,  with  a  low  voice,  from  which  all  former 
sharpness  and  energy  seemed  to  have  departed. 

Oswald  could  restrain  himself  no  longer.  He  sobbed 
aloud  and  threw  himself  into  Berger's  arms.  Now 
only,  lying  on  the  bosom  of  this  man,  he  felt  all  his  suf- 
ferings fully,  as  he  thought ;  now  only,  in  the  arms  of 
this,  man  who  had  endured  so  much,  he  fancied  he  need 
not  be  ashamed  any  longer  of  the  tears  which  his  heart 
had  bled  when  his  eyes  refused  to  weep. 

Berger  held  him  in  his  arms,  as  a  father  holds  his  son 
who  comes  home  from  a  far  country  in  which  he  has  fed 
with  the  swine. 

"  Weep  on,"  he  said,  "  weep  !  Tears  relieve  a  young, 
overflowing  heart.  When  I  was  as  young  as  you,  I 
wept  as  you  do ;  now  my  eyes  have  forgotten  how  to 
weep." 

"  Berger,  dear,  dear  Berger  ! 

"  I  knew  I  should  see  you  again.  I  expected  you  long 
ago.     I  did  not  think  you  would  stand  it  so  long  in  the 


52  Through  Night  to  Light. 

great  desert  outside.  Weep  on  !  Tears  are  the  price 
with  which  we  purchase  back  again  our  soul,  when  we 
find  what  a  wretched  bargain  we  had  made  before  we 
knew  better.  Ere  we  give  up  life  we  have  to  learn  that 
it  is  better  not  to  live.  Some  learn  that  sooner,  others 
later.  Be  glad  that  you  are  one  of  those  who  during 
the  bitterness  of  the  Sansara  have  already  a  foretaste  of 
the  sweetness  of  the  Nirwana." 

He  left  Oswald,  and  took  his  hat  and  cane  from  the 
table. 

"  Come  !  "  he  said. 

Oswald  was  so  deeply  moved  by  this  scene  that  the 
recollection  of  Bergcr's  odd  costume  only  suggested  to 
him  the  conviction  how  utterly  impossible  it  would  be 
to  speak  to  such  a  man  of  such  things.  He  would  as 
lief  have  reminded  a  mother  who  was  weeping  over  the 
body  of  her  child  of  some  defect  in  her  toilet,  a  bow  out 
of  place,  or  a  ribbon  which  had  come  loose. 

They  passed  through  the  long  passages,  down  the 
broad  stone  staircase  and  out  into  the  court-yard.  As 
they  went  across  the  latter,  the  young  man  who  was  sit- 
ting on  the  bench  came  up  to  them  and  repeated  the 
question  which  he  had  before  asked  of  Oswald  : 

"  I  certainly  have  the  honor  to  address  the  Emperor 
of  Fez  and  Morocco  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  replied  Berger,  "  The  emperor  is  not  coming; 
you  may  rely  upon  it." 

"Is  not  coming!  "  repeated  the  young  man;  and  his 
pale  face  became  still  paler,  and  his  eyes  wandered  rest- 
lessly to  and  fro;  "is  not  coming!  how  do  you  know 
that .?  " 

"  Because,  if  he  should  come  it  would  not  be  for  your 
happiness,  as  you  imagine,  but  for  your  final  ruin.  Why 
do  you  wish  him  to  come .''  To  bring  you  gold,  which 
you  will  gamble  away;  and  jewels,  which  you  will  lav- 
ish upon  your  mistresses ;  to  afford  you  the  means  of 
continuing  a  life  which  you  ought  to  thank  God  on 
your  knees  you  have  escaped  from — if  you  believe  in 
any  God  t  What  appears  to  you  a  star  of  promise,  is  a 
will-o'-the-wisp  from  the  moors.  Do  not  trust  in  its 
glimmer — it  lures  you  hither  and  thither,  and  each  time 


Through  Night  to  Light.  53 

deeper  into  the  moor.  Turn  resolutely  back  from  it ! 
I  tell  you  once  more,  the  emperor  is  not  coming !  and 
it  is  fortunate  for  you  that  he  does  not  come !  " 

"Do  you  know  his  majesty  so  intimately?"  stam- 
mered the  young  man. 

"  Very  intimately,"  said  Berger,  and  a  peculiar  smile 
played  on  his  features,  "  only  too  intimately.  I  also  was 
misled  by  his  majesty.  You  expect  from  his  promise 
money  and  lands.  I  Avas  promised — never  mind  what ; 
and  thus  he  promises  everybody  something  else,  in 
order  to  fool  and  trick  everybody.  The  conviction 
that  his  majesty's  promises  are  nothing  but  wind — that 
is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  and  the  last  conclusion  of 
wisdom  into  the  bargain." 

Berger  had  uttered  the  last  words  with  a  suddenly- 
sinking  voice,  as  if  he  were  speaking  to  himself.  He 
paid  no  further  attention  to  the  young  man,  who  was 
standing  there,  hat  in  hand,  with  an  indescribably  sad 
face.  Nor  did  he  seem  to  notice  Oswald,  who  followed 
him  silently,  and  most  painfully  affected  by  the  touching 
scene. 

Berger  apparently  felt  what  was  going  on  in  his  com- 
panion's heart,  for  they  had  left  the  gate  which  was 
opened  to  them  Avithout  delay,  and  found  themselves 
on  the  turnpike,  which  followed  first  one  bank,  and  then, 
after  crossing  the  river  on  a  bridge,  the  opposite  bank, 
rising  higher  and  higher  into  the  mountains.  He  sud- 
denly broke  his  silence  and  said, 

"  You  are  wondering  why  I  did  not  treat  the  poor 
fellow  more  tenderly,  instead  of  destroying  so  rudely  his 
absurd  illusions  .-^  This  apparent  cruelty  was  in  reality 
a  great  kindness." 

"  Who  is  the  unfortunate  man  1  " 

"  A  Count  Mattan,  from  our  country.  He  has  spent 
during  the  last  few  years  a  fortune  of  half  a  million  in 
senseless  extravagance.  Now  he  hopes  for  the  fabulous 
emperor,  who  is  to  restore  to  him  all  his  losses .''  " 

"  But  if  your  robbing  the  young  man  of  his  last  conso- 
lation should  deprive  him  of  the  last  feeble  remnant  of 
sense " 

"  You  speak  like  Doctor  Birkenhain.     It  makes  me 


54  Througn  Night  to  Light. 

laugh  to  see  how  these  optimists  blindly  try  to  arrest 
the  pov/er  which  drives  man  irresistibly  into  destruc- 
tion, like  children  who  try  to  stop  a  river  Avith  their  lit- 
tle hands.  My  study  here  is  the  observation  of  this 
peculiar  struggle,  which  would  be  grand  if  it  were  not 
so  ludicrous.  These  doctors  move  in  the  dark,  as  if 
they  were  playing  blindman's  buff,  and  think  they  have 
cured  the  disease  when  they  have  gotten  rid  of  the  symp- 
toms. They  do  not  know,  they  do  not  even  suspect,  that 
life  itself  is  the  shoe  that  pinches,  the  garment  of  Nessus 
which  burns  our  living  body — and  that  to  pull  off  this 
shoe,  to  throw  away  the  garment,  is  not  only  the  best 
but  the  only  remedy  by  which  we  can  escape  the  wretch- 
edness of  existence." 

They  had  left  the  highroad  and  reached  a  clearing  in 
the  forest,  which  was  thickly  overgrown  with  moss  and 
heather.  Before  them  was  a  view  over  the  tops  of  pine 
trees  into  the  plain  from  which  they  had  ascended,  and 
far  into  the  land  of  hills ;  behind  them  the  forest  ex- 
tended upwards.  It  was  quiet,  perfectly  quiet,  around 
them.  Long  white  gossamer  floated  through  the  thin, 
clear  air.  The  flowers  were  gone ;  the  birds  had  forgot- 
ten their  songs,  the  locusts  their  chirping ;  summer  itself 
had  died,  and  nature  sat  in  silent  grief  by  the  corpse. 
Even  the  avitumnal  sunshine  had  something  sad  in  it, 
like  a  widow's  smile ;  the  blue  of  the  sky  was  sickly, 
like  the  tearful  eye  of  a  mourner. 

Berger  had  seated  himself  on  the  low  stump  of  a  tree, 
and  Oswald  lay  down  close  by  him  on  the  thick 
heather.  In  this  silence  of  the  forest,  which  reminded 
him  so  forcibly  of  the  woods  of  Berkow  and  Grenwitz, 
and  of  the  painfully  sweet  days  he  had  spent  there,  he 
felt  that  irrepressible  impulse  to  speak  which  at  times 
overcomes  us  all  of  a  sudden.  As  the  Catholic  is  moved 
to  whisper  his  deep-hidden  secrets  into  the  ear  of  the 
priest,  his  personified  conscience,  so  Oswald  felt  im- 
pelled to  confess  to  the  imhappy  man  by  his  side,  in 
whom  he  had  ever  seen  another  self,  all  that  he  had  ex- 
perienced, tried  to  obtain,  suffered  and  sinned,  during 
these  last  eventful,  fatal  months.  He  did  not  think  of 
Doctor  Birkenhain's  suggestion  to  interest   Berger  by 


Through  Night  to  Light.  55 

all  means  at  his  command  in  his  own  fate,  and  thus  to 
play  the  part  of  the  physician  to  his  patient.  Was  he 
not  a  very  sick  patient  himself?  But,  whatever  might 
agitate  his  heart — the  man  by  his  side  had  suffered 
worse  things  ;  what  he  hardly  dared  confess  to  himself 
— the  man  who  Avas  Avandering  with  lowered  head  in 
the  dark  labyrinth  of  his  soul,  and  could  find  no  way  to 
light,  he  could  hear  all,  all.  And  thus  he  told  him,  first 
hesitatingly,  then  with  animation,  with  passionate  ex- 
citement, all  he  had  to  tell :  his  love  of  Melitta,  his  love 
of  Helen,  his  friendship  for  Bruno,  and  how  jealousy 
and  sickness  of  heart  had  robbed  him  of  the  one,  and 
strange  circumstances  and  death  of  the  other. 

Berger  had  listened  in  silence,  supporting  his  chin  in 
his  hand,  and  looking  with  his  large  eyes  fixedly  at  the 
distance,  without  once  interrupting  Oswald.  At  last, 
when  the  young  man  wound  up  with  the  painful  com- 
plaint "  Why  did  you  send  me  into  this  troublesome 
Avorld  .'  Why  did  you  let  me  wander  about  so  long  in 
this  darkness.'  "  Berger  raised  his  head,  turned  his  eyes 
towards  him,  and  said  slowly,  thoughtfully, 

"  Because  you  had  to  learn  this  also ;  because,  as  long 
as  you  were  with  me  in  Grunwald,  you  still  believed 
in  that  great  falsehood  which  we  call  life;  because  the 
pride  with  which  you  insisted  upon  its  being  a  truth 
had  to  be  broken.  I  have  led  you  the  shortest  and  safest 
way  to  wisdom.  I  knew  you  would  allow  yourself  to  be 
dazzled  by  false  splendor  ;  I  knew  you  would  hasten  with 
beating  heart,  with  parched  tongue,  through  the  lonely, 
white  sand  of  the  desert,  towards  the  blue  lake  with  the 
wooded  shore,  which  drew  back  further  and  further  as 
you  thought  you  were  coming  nearer,  until  you  would  at 
last  break  down,  cursing  your  sufferings  and  your  exist- 
ence. Be  rejoiced  !  You  have  gone  through  with  it ;  you 
have  finished  your  first  and  hardest  course  in  as  many 
weeks  as  it  took  me  years.  You  have  opened  your  eyes 
and  looked  at  Avhat  was  there,  and  behold !  it  w^as  not 
good  !  The  value  of  life,  the  purpose  of  life,  has  become 
doubtful  to  you.  You  have  begun  to  understand  that 
the  assertion  of  superficial  optimists :  Life  is  the  pur- 
pose of  life !    is  hardly  correct — unless  one  could  find 


56  Through  Night  to  Light. 

satisfaction  in  striving  after  a  purpose  which  can  never 
be  accomplished,  or  wliich,  if  it  be  accomplished,  is  worth 
nothing.  You  have  seen  how  indissolubly  untruth,  stu- 
pidity, and  vulgarity  are  interwoven  Avith  truth,  honesty, 
wisdom,  and  majesty.  This  knowledge,  which  only  the 
brutalized  slave,  grinning  under  the  lash  of  the  driver, 
receives  with  indifTerence,  but  which  saddens  noble  hearts 
unto  death,  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  the  entrance  to 
the  great  mystery." 

"  And  the  great  mystery.'  " 

Berger  made  no  reply ;  he  looked  again  with  fixed  eyes 
at  the  distance.     Oswald  dared  not  repeat  his  question. 

Deep  silence  all  around.  Silently  the  light  gossamer 
floated  through  the  clear  air ;  silently  the  evening  sun- 
shine wove  its  golden  net  around  the  heather  and  the 
dark-green  tops  of  the  pine-trees. 

They  sat  thus  speechless  side  by  side — silent  and  sad, 
like  two  children  lost  in  the  Avoods.  But  while  the  one, 
who  had  wound  up  his  life,  and  who  was  fearfully  in 
earnest  with  his  contempt  of  the  world,  suffered  himself 
to  sink  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  abyss  of  his  grief,  the 
young,  fresh  vitality  of  the  other  struggled  mightily 
towards  light  and  air. 

"What  is  this  in  me  which  rouses  me  at  this  very 
moment,  when  I  least  expected  it,  to  oppose  yovir  wis- 
dom }  "  he  inquired,  looking  up  at  Berger.  "  My  reason 
tells  me  you  are  right,  but  my  eye  drinks  with  delight 
the  beauty  of  this  evening  landscape ;  drinks  it  down 
into  the  heart,  and  there,  in  my  heart,  a  voice  Avhispers: 
'The  world  is  so  fair,  so  fair!  and  even  if  life  makes  you 
suffer  bitter  things  without  end,  it  is  still  sweet.'  Tell 
me,  Berger,  did  you  ever  love  with  all  the  strength  of 
your  heart  .•*  and  can  love  die,  as  the  summer  dies,  and 
the  flowers,  and  the  warm  sunlight.''  " 

Berger  smiled — it  was  a  strange,  weird  smile. 

"  Did  I  ever  love  ?  " 

He  cast  down  his  eyes,  and  took  off  with  his  stick  a 
piece  of  the  thick  crust  of  moss  at  his  feet. 

"What  good  does  it  do,"  he  said,  "to  lift  the  veil 
which  so  many  years  have  spread  over  the  past  .-*  You 
see  what  is  below — decay  and  destruction." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  57 

"And  yet,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  it  is  but  right  you 
should  learn  that  also.     Hear,  then  :  " 

"  It  is  now  thirty  years.  I  was  then  at  your  age,  but 
without  having  made  your  experiences;  clinging  to  life 
in  full,  unbroken  strength,  and  thinking  it  as  sweet  and 
precious  as  a  love  of  my  heart.  If  ever  man  was  enthu- 
siastic about  liberty  and  beauty — about  all  those  fair 
fancies  with  which  we  try  to  beautify  our  miserable 
existence  here,  and  to  hide  its  wretched  hollowness — if 
ever  man  was  raving  about  those  bloodless  images 
which  we  call  ideals — I  was  that  man.  In  my  madness 
I  fancied  that  eternal  bliss  might  be  Avon  here  below 
already,  wherever  men  were  living  in  a  free  country.  I 
believed  in  my  native  land,  and  sealed  my  faith  wnth  my 
blood  on  the  battle-fields  of  Leipzig  and  Waterloo.  I 
returned  full  of  burning  zeal  to  complete  the  great 
work.  But  before  I  covxld  undertake  to  heal  the  wounds 
which  my  country  had  received  during  the  war,  I  had 
to  think  of  healing  my  own  wounds.  They  sent  me, 
when  I  recovered,  to  Fichtenan. 

"  In  those  days  Fichtenan  was  not  what  it  is  now. 
There  was  no  Kurhaus  then,  and  no  asylum  for  the  in- 
sane ;  nevertheless  the  town  was  always  full  of  visitors, 
for  the  poetic  halo  with  which  the  great  men  of  Wei- 
mar had  surrounded  these  valleys  attracted  the  crowd. 
I  kept  aloof,  and  lived  only  for  my  health  and  my 
studies. 

"  I  boarded  in  the  house  of  an  old  schoolmaster  with 
whom  I  had  become  acquainted,  and  whose  friendship  I 
cultivated  because  he  possessed  quite  a  large  library, 
and  books  were  not  so  easily  accessible  then,  especially 
in  this  remote  part  of  the  world.  But  the  old  gentleman 
possessed  yet  another  treasure,  besides  his  library — a 
most  beautiful  daughter.  The  daughter  soon  became 
more  interesting  to  me  than  the  library.  You  asked 
me  if  I  had  ever  loved  with  all  my  heart.  If  you  had 
known  Leonora,  and  seen  how  high  and  how  powerfully 
my  heart  then  beat,  you  would  not  have  asked  me  that 
question. 

"  It  was  a  summer  day — a  marv^ellously  beautiful  sum- 
mer day.  We  had  gone  out  into  the  woods  after  din- 
3* 


58  Through  Night  to  Light. 

ner — a  mixed  company — young  and  old.  We  lay  down 
on  the  swelling  moss  in  the  shade  of  the  pine-trees. 
How  my  eye  dwelt  upon  her  graceful  form  as  she  did 
the  honors  of  the  company  with  merry  modesty ;  how 
my  ear  drank  in  the  tones  of  her  silvery,  sweet  voice ! 
It  was  the  old  song  of  the  sirens,  which  was  heard  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  years  ago,  and  which  will  yet  be 
heard  thousands  and  thousands  of  years  hence — till  the 
time  is  fulfilled. 

"  After  the  coffee  Ave  strolled  about  in  the  forest — in 
groups,  by  pairs,  as  accident  and  inclination  brought  it 
about.  I  had  followed  Leonora,  who  was  gathering  a 
bunch  of  wild-flowers.  I  helped  her,  although  I  did  not 
know  much  of  these  things,  and  was  often  laughed  at  by 
the  teasing  girls  on  account  of  my  odd  selection.  She 
however  became  more  and  more  silent  the  deeper  we 
went  into  the  wood  and  the  further  we  left  the  others 
behind.  As  she  became  more  silent  and  anxious,  I  grew 
more  animated  and  pressing.  Her  silence  and  the  blush 
on  her  cheeks  told  me  what  I  had  long  since  desired  in 
secret,  what  I  had  prayed  heaven  to  grant  me,  and  what 
I  had  yet  never  hoped  to  obtain. 

"  Then  we  stepped  out  upon  this  clearing.  The  same 
mountains  which  are  there  lying  before  us  looked  as  blue 
to  us,  and  the  same  sun  which  looks  down  from  heaven 
now  poured  a  dazzling  light  lavishly  down  vipon  us. 
And  the  golden  light  shone  brightly  on  her  dark,  curl- 
ing hair,  and  played  upon  her  round,  white  shoulders ; 
and  here,  on  this  very  place,  we  fell  into  each  other's 
arms  and  swore  each  other  eternal  love,  amid  hot  kisses 
and  hot  tears. 

"  The  stump  on  w^hich  I  am  now  sitting  was  then  a 
tall,  slender,  powerful  pine-tree,  and  I  was  young  and 
slender,  and  full  of  exuberant  strength.  The  tree  has 
been  cut  down  and  burnt  in  the  fire ;  I — I  have  become 
what  I  am " 

Berger  paused  and  stirred  up  the  moss  at  his  feet  with 
his  cane.  Oswald  looked  with  reverence  at  the  unfor- 
tunate man  ;  but  he  dared  not  speak,  nor  even  seize 
Berger's  hand,  which  Avas  listlessly  hanging  doAvn  by  his 
side.      Lofty  calmness  rested  on  Berger's  face ;  not  a 


Through  Night  to  Light.  59 

gesture  betrayed  what  was  going  on  in  his  heart;  but 
he  did  not  look  like  one  who  requires  sympathy  or  ex- 
pects sympathy. 

"  Not  at  once,"  he  suddenly  continued — "the  strength 
within  me  was  great  and  could  only  be  broken  by  piece- 
meal. I  spoke,  after  our  return  home,  to  the  old  gentle- 
man ;  he  liked  me  and  was  heartily  glad  to  see  our 
affection.  A  few  days  later  I  returned  to  the  University 
in  order  to  resume  my  studies,  which  the  war  had  inter- 
rupted. I  studied  with  increasing  diligence,  for  my 
thirst  of  knowledge  was  hardly  less  of  an  incentive  than 
my  desire  to  be  able  as  soon  as  possible  to  carry  Leonora 
home  with  me  as  my  wife.  I  therefore  went  only  rarely 
to  Fichtenan,  and  then  stayed  only  a  short  time  to  sun 
myself  in  Leonora's  love,  and  to  return  to  my  work  with 
new  courage  and  new  strength.  But  I  had  another  lady- 
love, whom  I  worshipped  with  no  less  ardor — Liberty. 
I  shared  that  passion  with  many  other  noble  young  men. 
We  did  not  mean  to  have  shed  our  blood  on  the  battle- 
fields in  vain ;  we  were  not  willing  to  become  the  prey 
of  so  many  jackals  and  wolves,  after  we  had  successfully 
overcome  a  lion.  But  the  jackals  were  on  their  guard, 
and  the  wolves  broke  in  our  fold. 

"  I  had  been  engaged  in  teaching  for  a  year ;  I  had  pre- 
pared everything  for  the  wedding;  the  day  was  fixed; 
I  was  counting  the  days  and  the  hours.  Suddenly,  one 
night,  I  was  seized  in  my  bed  by  armed  men.  My 
papers  were  sealed  up ;  and  the  next  night  I  slept  in  a 
casemate  of  a  fortress. 

"  Or,  rather,  I  did  not  sleep — I  was  enraged,  I  was  mad- 
dened ;  my  hands  bled  from  my  efforts  to  break  the 
bars  of  my  cage.  Gradually  I  consoled  myself  with  the 
hope  that  this  captivity  could  not  last  long,  and  Leonora 
— well !  she  would  bear  her  hard  lot  like  a  heroine.  A 
second  Egmont,  I  saw  freedom  and  my  beloved  hand  in 
hand.  Through  night  to  light !  This  battle  to  victory ! 
That  was  the  mystic  word  with  which  I  tried  to  frighten 
back  the  serpent-haired  monster.  Despair,  when  it  was 
pressing  upon  me  and  about  to  strike  its  fangs  into  my 
heart.  The  mystic  word  had  ample  time  to  prove  its 
power.     I  remained  in  prison  for  five  years ! 


6o  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  You  may  imagine  if  my  faith  in  the  so-called  divine 
nature  of  the  world's  government  was  shaken  during 
this  time,  which  I  measured  by  the  beats  of  my  heart, 
and  the  drops  which  fell,  one  by  one,  from  the  damp 
ceiling  of  my  cell.  But,  I  told  you  before,  my  strength 
was  great,  and  I  was  sternly  determined  to  live.  I  had 
heard,  to  be  sure,  in  the  silent  nights  which  saw  me  toss- 
ing restlessly  upon  my  hard  couch,  the  great  word  that 
releases  us,  but  I  had  imderstood  it  only  half,  and  per- 
haps not  quite  half.  I  had  but  just  begun  to  spell  the 
letters  in  my  long  apprenticeship ;  life  itself  was  to  be 
my  school,  before  I  should  be  able  to  read  it  fluently. 

"  I  had  scarcely  been  set  free  when  I  hastened  to  this 
place — you  may  imagine  Avith  what  feelings !  In  the 
beginning  of  my  captivity  I  had  received  one  or  two 
letters  from  Leonora,  in  which  she  conjured  me  to  endure 
patiently,  and  to  remain  faithful,  appealing  to  the  God 
to  whom  she  was  hourly  sending  up  her  prayers  for  my 
release.  Her  letters  liad  become  rarer,  and  after  about 
two  years  none  had  come  any  more.  That  was  my  great- 
est sorroAV  ;  but  I  always  believed  that  it  was  the  cruelty 
of  my  jailors  which  denied  me  this  consolation,  and  I 
ground  my  teeth  and  cursed  my  tormentors. 

"  I  had  done  them  injustice. 

"  It  was  far  in  the  night  when  I  reached  Fichtenan.  I 
drove  directly  to  the  familiar  house.  I  jumped  from  the 
carriage  and  pulled  the  bell.  A  window  was  opened 
up-stairs ;  an  old  woman  looked  out  and  asked  what  I 
wanted  1  I  inquired  after  the  schoolmaster.  '  He  died 
three  years  ago,'  was  the  curt  answer.  '  And  where  is 
his  daughter  1  '  '  You  must  ask  the  great  gentleman 
who  eloped  with  her  three  years  ago,'  said  the  woman, 
and  shut  the  window  with  violence.  I  stood  thunder- 
struck. Then  I  laughed  aloud  ;  but  I  Avas  silenced  by  an 
intense  pain  in  the  heart  —  for,  Oswald,  I  had  loved 
Leonora. 

"  I  never  knew  how  I  reached  the  inn.  Late  in  the  night 
I  roused  the  good  people  from  their  slumbers  by  my  wild 
laughing  and  furious  raging.  They  broke  open  the  door 
of  my  room— I  was  in  full  delirium.  Tlie  air  of  tlie 
prison  had  affected  my  health,  and  the  fearful  blow,  find- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  6i 

ing  mc  utterly  unprepared,  had  sliakcn  the  weakened  edi- 
fice to  the  foundation.  I  struggled  four  weeks  for  my 
life,  but  I  clung  to  it  fiercely,  and  Death  had  to  give  up 
its  prey.  Woe  to  me  !  That  death  would  not  have  been 
the  ordinary  death  to  me — it  would  have  restored  me  to 
life  !     If  I  should  die  now  I  would  die  for  ever  !  " 

Oswald  shuddered.  What  was  the  meaning  of  these 
mysterious  words:  "Die  forever!"  Did  they  contain 
that  great  mystery  which  was  yet  hidden  from  him  by  a 
thick  %^eil  1 

"  My  convalescence,"  continued  Berger,  "  lasted  long, 
for  my  strength  had  been  utterly  exhausted.  I  crept 
through  the  streets  of  the  village,  leaning  on  a  stick, 
and  rejoiced  to  find  that  I  could  climb,  day  by  day,  a 
few  steps  higher,  until  I  succeeded  at  last  in  reaching 
this  spot  here — the  scene  of  an  oath,  which  I  had  fancied 
to  be  sworn  for  eternity,  and  which  had  passed  away 
with  the  breath  of  her  lips.  I  came  every  day  here  to 
weep  over  my  lost  happiness,  and  to  quarrel  with  Heaven 
\yho  lets  his  sun  shine  upon  the  unjust,  and  hurls  his 
lightnings  at  the  just.  For  I  was,  like  King  Lear,  a  man 
more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  I  had  meant  it  well 
and  faithfully  with  all  I  had  desired  and  striven  after  in 
life.  I  had  loved  my  native  land  as  a  child  loves  its  pa- 
rents, Avith  a  simple,  believing  heart ;  and  in  return  it 
had  made  me  suffer  five  years  in  a  dungeon.  I  had 
loved  Leonora  with  every  drop  of  blood  in  my  heart ; 
and  in  return  she  had  betrayed  me.  Up  to  that  moment 
I  had  so  lived  in  the  world  that  I  could  face  all  and  say : 
Who  can  accuse  me  of  a  sin.^ — and  yet!  and  yet!  I 
racked  my  brain  to  solve  the  mystery.  I  had  never  yet 
understood  fully  that  life  itself  is  the  great  sin,  from 
which  all  other  sins  flow  necessarily,  as  the  stone,  once 
set  in  motion,  must  roll  inevitably  down  the  precipice. 
Thus  only  I  gradually  comprehended  that  He  cannot  be 
a  God  of  love  who  created  and  still  creates  a  world  in 
which  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  punished  down  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation — a  world,  the  whole  govern- 
ment of  which  rests  on  the  fearful  Jesuitical  principles 
that  the  end  sanctions  the  means.  So  far  I  had  always 
tried  to  find  out  only  what  was  good  in  the  world  and 


62  Through  Night  to  Light. 

in  men ;  now  my  eyes  had  been  opened  by  sore  suffer- 
ings for  the  sufferings  of  my  fellow-beings.  I  now  saw 
how  every  page  of  our  history  bears  the  record  of  some 
fearful  deed  that  makes  our  hair  stand  on  end,  and 
our  blood  curdle  in  our  veins;  I  saw  that  there  is  a 
dark  corner  in  every  man's  heart  which  he  never  dares 
look  into;  that  no  man  yet  has  lived  who  did  not  wish 
once  in  his  life  that  he  had  never  been  born  ;  I  saw  that 
the  life  of  covintless  multitudes  is  nothing  more  than 
a  desperate  struggle  for  existence ;  that  sickness  and 
sin,  repentance  and  sorrow,  undermine  our  life  most 
thoroughly  and  eat  their  way  to  the  core  like  Avorms  in 
ripe  fruit ;  that  at  best  our  pleasures  are  a  dance  upon 
graves — that,  if  life  really  ever  was  precious,  death,  in- 
exorable death,  is  forever  scoffing  and  scorning  at  this 
precious  life.  And  I  looked  around  on  nature,  in  which 
poets  see  an  idyll,  and  I  found  that  it  was  either  dead 
and  insensible,  or,  when  it  does  feel  and  sympathize, 
only  repeating  the  bloody  drama  of  human  existence  in 
a  ruder  and  more  shocking  form.  I  saw  that  the  dif- 
ferent races  of  animals  are  engaged  in  fierce,  implaca- 
ble warfare  against  each  other,  uninterrupted  by  a  mo- 
ment's peace,  and  that  their  wars  are  carried  on  with  a 
cruelty  by  the  side  of  which  even  the  most  refined  tor- 
tures of  the  Inquisition  appear  at  times  very  harmless 
proceedings. 

"  And  whilst  I  thus  tore  the  gay  rags  to  pieces,  under 
which  cowardice  and  stupidity  try  to  conceal  the 
wounds  and  sores  of  society,  there  arose  in  my  heart  a 
feeling  which  I  had  not  known  before — hatred.  It  was 
only  my  love  in  another  form,  although  I  tried  to  per- 
suade myself  that  I  had  forgotten  the  faithless  one ;  it 
was  only  another  expression  of  my  fondness  of  life,  al- 
though i  had  fancied  that  I  had  forever  closed  my  ac- 
count with  life.  When  we  really  give  up  life,  we  know 
nothing  more  of  love  or  hatred. 

"  At  that  time,  however,  I  did  hate.  Passionately  as  I 
had  loved,  my  whole  being  was  concentrated  in  the  one, 
burning  desire  to  be  revenged.  Revenge!  revenge! 
on  him  !  on  her ! — this  was  the  cry  of  a  voice  Avithin  me, 
which  I  covild  never  silence  again.     They  all  knew  my 


Through  Night  to  Light.  63 

misfortune  in  Ficlitenan,  and  felt  for  me  with  that  cheap 
sympathy  which  is  composed  of  delight  in  scandal  and 
the  pleasure  we  take  in  the  failures  of  others.  They 
told  me,  tmasked,  all  that  was  known  about  Leonora's 
flight. 

"  About  the  time  when  my  letters  had  first  failed  to 
come  to  me,  a  young  Polish  count  had  arrived  in  Fich- 
tenan  and  taken  the  rooms  in  the  old  schoolmaster's 
house  which  I  had  occupied.  Soon  the  whole  town  had 
been  full  of  him,  of  his  beauty  and  his  wealth.  They 
had  teased  Leonora  about  her  handsome  lodger,  but  she 
had  rebuked  all  such  jests  on  the  part  of  her  young 
friends  with  great  indignation.  Soon,  however,  they  no 
longer  dared  to  say  openly  to  her  what  they  thought 
about  her  relations  to  the  young  count,  but  only  whis- 
pered it  about  with  bated  breath  that  they  had  been 
seen  together  late  at  night  at  such  and  such  places, 
and  that  the  gold  chain  which  she  was  now  wearing 
had  not  been  in  her  possession  before.  And  then  came 
a  day  on  which  they  had  no  longer  whispered,  but  pro- 
claimed aloud  in  the  streets,  that  the  schoolmaster's 
Leonora  had  eloped  the  night  before  with  the  handsome 
count,  and  that  her  poor  old  father,  a  confirmed  invalid, 
had  been  so  deeply  affected  by  the  news  as  to  be  danger- 
ously ill.  A  few  days  later  the  old  man  had  really  died. 
Of  Leonora  nothing  had  been  heard  since  that  night. 

"  Fortunately  the  name  of  the  count  was  well  known, 
and  that  was  all  I  desired  in  order  to  carry  out  my  plan 
of  revenge.  I  took  what  little  remained  of  my  fortune 
and  began  my  travels  —  first  to  Warsaw.  There  the 
count  was  very  well  known  ;  they  described  him  to  me 
as  a  profligate  young  man,  who  made  it  the  business  of 
his  life  to  sedvice  beautiful  w^omen.  An  acquaintance 
added,  that  he  had  seen  him  about  two  years  before 
in  Venice  in  company  with  a  beautiful  lady,  who  might 
have  been  Leonora  from  his  description. 

"  I  went  to  Venice.  There  also  he  was  w^ell  remember- 
ed ;  he  had  lived  there  several  months  and  had  then  moved 
to  Milan.  From  Milan  they  sent  me  to  Rome.  There 
I  met  with  a  friend  of  my  youth,  a  painter.  He  had  seen 
the  count  and  Leonora  very  frequently,  and  pitied  the 


64  Through  Night  to  Light. 

poor  girl  long  before  he  knew  that  she  had  ever  been 
dear  to  me.  He  told  me  that  the  count  had  treated  her 
very  badly,  and  laughingly  told  everybody  that  no  one 
could  do  him  a  more  valuable  service  than  by  relieving 
him  of  this  burden.  Then  the  painter  hesitated  and  de- 
clined to  say  more.  I  conjured  him  to  tell  me  all,  as- 
suring liim  that  I  was  prepared  to  hear  the  worst.  At 
last  he  yielded,  and  told  me  that  after  some  time  the 
count  had  really  found  a  successor  in  the  person  of  a 
French  marquis,  or  at  least  a  pretended  marquis,  who 
had  taken  Leonora  with  him  to  Paris.  This  had  occurred 
about  a  year  ago.  The  count  was  said  to  be  living  in 
Naples.  I  went  to  Naples,  with  my  friend  the  painter. 
I  had  told  him  my  purpose  to  have  my  revenge.  He 
thought  it  would  be  very  difficult,  since  the  count  was 
as  cunning  and  brave  as  he  was  dissipated  and  cruel. 
But  when  he  saw  me  firmly  bent  upon  my  purpose,  he 
offered  to  accompany  me.  I  accepted  the  offer ;  for  the 
painter  had  many  acquaintances  among  the  great  men  of 
the  world,  and  could  introduce  me  into  the  circles  fre- 
quented by  the  count,  to  which  I  would  not  otherwise 
have  found  access. 

"  We  reached  Naples.  The  count  was  still  there,  the 
spoilt  pet  of  the  women  and  the  horror  of  fathers  and 
husbands.  The  painter  succeeded  without  any  trouble 
in  introducing  me  in  good  society.  For  some  time 
chance  seemed  to  defeat  every  effort  I  made  to  meet  the 
count  at  one  of  the  parties  where  he  was  expected.  At 
last  I  met  him  at  a  great  soiree  given  by  the  Russian 
Minister.  I  saw  him  standing  in  the  centre  of  a  group 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  could  not  deny  him  the 
praise  of  really  superb  beauty  and  an  almost  irresistible 
charm  of  manner.  I  approached  the  group,  with  the 
painter  by  my  side. 

" '  Count,'  said  the  painter,  '  Doctor  Berger,  of  Fich- 
tenan,  desires  to  make  your  acquaintance  ;  permit  me  to 
present  him  to  you.' 

"  At  the  mention  of  Fichtenan  the  count  had  turned 
pale,  and  changed  covintenance  in  such  a  manner  that 
all  the  by-standers  were  struck  by  it. 

" '  I  shall  not  detain  you  long,  count,'  said  I,  stepping 


Through  Night  to  Light.  65 

forward,  '  I  only  desire  to  learn  from  you  the  present 
place  of  residence  of  that  young  lady  whom  you  carried 
off  from  her  paternal  house  three  years  ago,  and  whom 
you  finally  sold  to  a  French  adventurer  in  Rome.' 

"  I  said  these  Avords  calmly,  slowly,  weighing  every  syl- 
lable. My  voice  Avas  heard  all  over  the  room,  for  at  the 
first  words  I  uttered  everybody  had  become  so  silent 
that  you  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop. 

"  The  count  had  turned  still  paler,  but  he  soon  recov- 
ered himself  and  said  : 

" '  And  what  right  have  you  to  ask  such  a  question  at 
a  time  and  a  place  which  vou  Iiave  chosen  marvellously 
well  1 ' 

"  '  I  had  the  misfortune  of  being  engaged  to  the  young 
lady.' 

"  '  And  if  I  decline  giving  you  the  information ' 

"  *  Then  I  declare  you  before  all  these  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen to  be  from  head  to  foot  nothing  but  a  vulgar 
blackguard.' 

"  With  these  words  I  threw  my  glove  into  his  face  and 
left  the  company,  after  having  asked  their  pardon  for  the 
necessity  that  had  forced  me  to  provoke  so  unpleasant 
a  scene. 

"An  insult  of  this  kind  could  only  be  wiped  out  by 
blood,  according  to  the  views  of  that  society  in  Avhich 
the  count  moved.  To  prevent  his  pleading  too  great  a 
disparity  in  social  rank  I  had  taken  the  precaution  of 
Avearing  my  officer's  uniform;  and  besides,  the  Avell- 
known  name  of  my  friend,  the  painter,  secured  me 
against  the  suspicion  of  being  an  unknoAAm  adA'enturer. 
The  A'ery  favor  Avhich  the  count  enjoyed  Avith  the  ladies 
had,  moreoA'er,  made  him  Axry  hateful  to  the  men,  so 
that  CA'erybody  AA^as  glad  to  see  him  thus  publicly  ex- 
posed, and  if  he  had  refused  to  fight  me  he  Avould  proba- 
bly have  lost  his  standing  in  society.  His  fcAV  friends 
had,  therefore,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  his  enemies 
had  smiled  Avith  delight,  Avhen  he  had  left  the  house 
soon  after  my  departure,  and  an  hour  afterAA^ards  I  re- 
ceived a  challenge  for  the  folloAving  morning.  That 
AA'as  all  I  desired.  I  AA'as  delighted ;  and  the  fcAv  hours 
still  Avanting  till  I  should  see  the  seducer  of  Leonora, 


66  Through  Night  to  Light. 

the  murderer  of  my  earthly  happiness,  at  the  mouth  of 
my  pistol,  seemed  to  me  an  eternity.  I  could  not  bear 
the  confinement  of  my  hotel ;  I  wanted  to  cool  the  fever 
of  revenge  that  burnt  in  me  in  the  balsamic  night  air. 
My  friend  begged  me  not  to  do  so,  since  I  might  easily 
take  cold  during  my  nightly  promenade,  as  he  called  it, 
with  an  ironical  smile.  But  excited  and  maddened  as  I 
was,  I  insisted  on  my  purpose,  and  he  accompanied  me, 
but  only  after  having  provided  daggers  for  both  of  us. 

"  I  was  soon  to  learn  how  much  better  the  painter  knew 
the  character  of  my  enemy  and  the  manners  of  the  peo- 
ple among  whom  we  happened  to  be.  We  had  scarcely 
gone  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  hotel,  and  were 
just  turning  into  Toledo  street  from  a  narrow  lane,  when 
four  men  suddenly  jumped  forth  from  the  deep  shadow 
of  a  house  and  fell  upon  us  with  incredible  fury.  For- 
tunately the  painter  was  a  man  of  gigantic  strength, 
and  I  also  had  my  good  arm  and  presence  of  mind. 
The  murderers  seemed  to  be  surprised  by  our  resistance. 
After  a  few  moments  they  took  to  their  heels.  I  was 
going  to  follow  them.  '  Let  them  run,'  said  the  painter, 
wiping  his  bloody  dagger;  '  I  fear  I  have  scratched  one 
of  them  rather  too  deeo.  But  the  fellow  was  really  too 
zealous  to  earn  the  few  dollars  which  the  count  had 
given  him.' 

"  I  had  lost  all  desire  to  continue  my  walk.  We  re- 
turned by  the  nearest  Avay  to  our  hotel,  and  awaited  the 
appointed  hour  with  impatience. 

"  The  painter  tried  to  persuade  me  that  I  ought  not  to 
fight  a  duel  with  a  man  who  had  resorted  to  assassina- 
tion, but  should  knock  him  down  like  a  mad  dog;  but  I 
replied  to  him  that  that  was  exactly  what  I  meant  to 
do,  and  that  the  duel  was  only  an  empty  ceremony.  We 
became  quite  warm  in  the  discussion. 

"  Very  unnecessarily  so.  Morning  broke  at  last ;  we 
were  the  first  on  the  spot ;  no  adversary  was  to  be  seen. 
At  last,  an  hour  later,  the  count's  second  appeared — a 
young  Italian  nobleman — pale  and  overwhelmed  with 
shame.  He  told  us  how  sorry  he  was  to  have  kept  us 
waiting  so  long,  but  that  it  was  not  his  fault.  The  count 
had  left  his  house  late  at  night,  after  having  arranged 


Through  Night  to  Light.  67 

everything  with  his  second,  leaving  orders  for  his  male- 
servant  not  to  sit  up  for  him.  Since  that  moment  he 
had  not  been  seen  again.  It  seemed  to  be  highly  pro- 
bable that  some  accident  had  befallen  him,  for  of  course 
it  would  be  ridiculous  to  presume  for  a  moment  that  a 
man  of  the  count's  high  social  position  should  have  es- 
caped by  flight  from  a  duel. 

"  The  painter  replied  that  we  could  very  well  afford  to 
wait,  and  that  delay  was  not  defeat.  The  young  noble- 
man promised  to  inform  us  of  anything  he  miglit  learn 
concerning  the  count's  movements.  But  the  count  re- 
mained unseen,  and  I  had  at  last  to  take  the  painter's 
view,  which  he  had  already  mentioned  on  the  night  of 
our  encounter  with  the  assassins,  that  the  count  himself 
had  led  the  attack,  being  in  all  probability  the  very 
person  whose  violence  had  been  most  conspicuous,  and 
who  had  been  so  severely  punished  by  the  strong  arm 
of  the  painter.  Either  he  had  died  in  consequence  of 
the  wound  received  on  that  occasion,  or,  what  was  more 
probable,  he  was  only  wounded  and  remained  concealed 
in  order  to  avoid  giving  an  explanation  of  his  condi- 
tion. Perhaps,  also,  he  wished  to  escape  the  investiga- 
tion of  the  affair  by  the  police,  who  showed  an  unu- 
sual activity  in  the  matter,  as  if  they  had  been  stimu- 
lated by  the  enemies  of  the  count,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  escape  from  an  adversary  who  attached  such  vulgar 
importance  to  matters  which  in  his  circle  were  passed 
over  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  However  this  might  be,  my  adversary  did  not  re-ap- 
pear, and  after  the  strange  affair  had  been  for  four  weeks 
the  favorite  topic  of  conversation  all  over  town — for  it 
had  created  an  enormous  sensation — I  saw  myself  com- 
pelled to  leave  Naples  without  having  accomplished  my 
purpose. 

"  I  went  by  way  of  Rome — where  I  took  leave  of  my 
friend  —  to  Paris.  I  felt  that  I  had  fulfilled  my  duty 
only  half;  the  hardest  part  was  yet  to  be  done.  I  was  afraid 
to  meet  Leonora  again;  and  yet  I  wished  it  almost  as 
earnestly.  You  will  ask  how  I  could  take  so  deep  an 
interest  in  a  person  who  had  so  frivolously  trifled  with 
my  happiness,  and  who  had  lost  the  last  rest  of  respect, 


68  Through  Night  to  Light. 

which  might  have  remained  alive  for  her  after  her  elope- 
ment with  the  Pole,  by  running  away  witli  the  French- 
man. But  I  told  you  I  had  loved  Leonora  with  an 
ardent,  demoniacal  love,  the  fire  of  which  had  never  yet 
burned  out,  and  which  was  to  burn,  alas !  yet  long  after 
all  was  consumed.  Besides,  I  knew  that  Leonora, 
however  recklessly  she  might  have  acted,  was  in 
reality  not  ignoble,  but  had  probably  in  Rome  been 
forced  by  a  most  fearful  necessity  to  leave  the  man 
whom  she  had  followed  so  far  from  love.  I  felt  that 
now,  if  she  was  still  alive,  she  were  also  most  assuredly 
wretchedly  unhappy. 

"  I  reached  Paris.  The  city  was  quite  familiar  to  me, 
for  I  had  already  paid  two  visits  there,  in  company  with  a 
few  thousand  armed  friends.  Moreover,  I  had  provided 
myself  in  Naples  with  letters  of  introduction  from  the 
painters  and  several  distinguished  Italian  and  French 
gentlemen,  whose  acquaintance  I  had  made  there.  A 
few  inquiries  confirmed  at  once  the  painter's  original 
suspicion,  that  the  marquis  who  had  carried  off  Leonora 
from  Rome  was  an  adventurer.  A  marquis  of  that 
name  did  not  exist,  had  never  existed,  at  all  events  not 
in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  I  had  to  continue  my 
search  in  other  less  aristocratic  quarters. 

"  A  young  Frenchman,  an  author,  whose  acquaintance 
I  had  made  years  ago,  was  my  faithful  companion  in  all 
my  wanderings.  He  was  a  pleasant  man,  warmly  at- 
tached to  myself,  and  has  ever  since  remained  my  best 
friend.  I  had,  of  course,  told  him  the  whole  of  my  sad 
story ;  and  he,  who  was  far  superior  to  me  in  knowledge 
of  the  world,  and  especially  of  that  little  world  which 
makes  up  Paris,  had  first  suggested  to  me  to  carry  my 
investigations  into  the  Quartier  Latin,  and  other  still 
more  modest  parts  of  the  city.  '  Paris,'  said  the  French- 
man, 'is  a  place  Avhere  men  and  things  rarely  preserve 
their  original  value  long;  they  rise  and  fall  in  price 
with  amazing  rapidity.  During  a  whole  year  the  poor 
girl  may  have  passed  through  very  sad  changes.  If  she 
has  not  committed  suicide — and  this  is  hardly  probable, 
as  she  would  probably  have  killed  herself  already  in 
Rome,  if  she  had  had  the  courage  to  die — she  has  cer- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  69 

tainly  sunk  very  low.  I  pray  you  prepare  yourself  for 
the  very  worst.' 

"  You  may  imagine  how  my  heart  bled  when  I  heard 
these  words,  and  felt  how  true  they  were  likely  to  be.  I 
felt  like  a  man  who  is  grappling  in  a  lake  for  the  body 
of  his  drowned  child. 

"  One  evening,  as  we  were  wandering  about  at  hap- 
hazard through  one  of  the  most  crowded  suburbs,  my 
companion  surprised  me  by  asking  me  :  '  Did  Leonora 
have  any  talent  for  dancing .'' '  When  I  told  him  that 
she  had  always  been  perfect  in  that  art,  he  said,  '  We 
ought  to  have  thought  of  that  before.  How  strange  that 
I  never  thought  of  asking  you  before.'  He  was  so  taken 
up  with  his  new  idea  that  he  did  not  deign  to  answer 
when  I  inquired  what  the  art  of  dancing  had  to  do  with 
our  search.  He  hailed  a  cab  ;  we  went  back  into  the 
city.  We  stopped  at  one  of  those  dancing-halls  which 
were  the  less  brilliant,  perhaps,  but  certainly  not  less 
crowded  than  nowadays.  '  Look  around,  if  you  can  see 
Leonora  anywhere  !  We  searched  the  whole  establish- 
ment; Leonora  was  not  there.  'Then  let  us  go  on.'  We 
drove  to  another  dancing-hall,  and,  when  our  search 
was  here  also  fruitless,  to  a  third,  and  a  fourth.  All  in 
vain.  I  was  so  exhausted  by  the  sad  scenes  I  had  wit- 
nessed, by  the  dust  and  the  heat  which  filled  these 
crowded  rooms,  by  the  efforts  to  find  one  certain  person 
among  so  many,  who  were  constantly  changing  from 
place  to  place,  and  by  the  excitement,  the  anxiety,  and 
the  very  fear  of  finding  what  I  was  looking  for,  that  I 
begged  my  companion  to  abandon  the  search,  at  least 
for  to-night.  '  Only  one  more  locality,'  he  replied ;  '  I 
have  on  purpose  left  it  for  the  last,  because  the  proba- 
bility of  finding  her  there  is  strong  enough,  but  also 
very  painful.'  '  How  so  .''  '  'The  establishments  which 
you  have  seen  so  far,'  replied  the  Frenchman,  '  are  after 
a  fashion  quite  respectable  in  spite  of  what  is  going 
on  there.  The  visitors  are  beyond  measure  reckless, 
arrogant,  frivolous,  but  after  all  not  exactly  vicious. 
They  are  students  with  their  ladies,  clerks  with  their 
grisettes,  well-to-do  mechanics  who  want  to  have  a 
frolic,  in  company  with  their  girls.     The    society  into 


70  Through  Night  to  Light. 

which  I  am  now  going  to  introduce  you  is  far  more  ele- 
gant, but  not  quite  so  harmless.  It  is  a  house  frequented 
mainly  by  wild  young  men  of  rank  from  the  aristocratic 
quarters  of  the  town,  who  seek  here  compensation  for 
the  dullness  of  their  own  saloons,  and  by  foreigners  who 
come  to  Paris  to  ruin  their  health  and  to  waste  their 
fortune.  The  fair  sex  is  such  as  suits  these  people. 
You  find  here  the  most  beautiful,  but  also  the  most  cor- 
rupt of  women  men-catchers,  who  drive  to-day  a  four-in- 
hand,  and  die  to-morrow  in  the  hospital — mainly  foreign- 
ers: Creoles,  English,  Italian,  or  German  girls,  who  here 
find  countrymen  in  numbers.  Prepare  yourself  to  look 
for  her — I  trust  in  vain — in  this  pandemonium. 

"  We  reached  the  place.  Broad  marble  steps  led  up- 
stairs. My  heart  beat  violently ;  I  could  scarcely  stand, 
for  something  within  me  told  me  that  I  had  reached  the 
goal  of  my  wanderings ;  that  the  disfigured,  swollen 
head  of  the  dead  body  would  the  next  moment  rise 
from  the  black  waters. 

"  We  entered  the  brilliantly-lighted-up  hall.  The  or- 
chestra played  bacchantic  music,  and  in  bacchantic 
madness  the  dancers  rushed  by  each  other.  The  dazz- 
ling lights,  the  loud  trumpets,  the  crowds,  the  heat,  the 
narcotic  fragrance  of  exotics,  with  which  the  room  was 
adorned,  and  the  fearful  excitement  under  which  I 
labored,  took  away  my  breath.  I  had  to  lean  for  a  mo- 
ment against  a  pillar,  and  closed  my  eyes  in  order  to 
collect  myself  As  I  was  standing  thus,  faint  and  nearly 
falling,  a  voice  fell  upon  my  ear  which  stung  me  at  the 
first  note  like  an  adder.  Tlae  ear  is  a  faithful  monitor  ; 
it  never  in  all  this  life  forgets  a  voice  whose  notes  have 
once  been  sweet  and  dear  to  it.  It  had  not  deceived 
me. 

"  Close  before  me,  so  close  that  I  could  have  touched 
her  with  my  hand,  stood  a  girl,  talking  fast  to  a  hand- 
some young  man  ;  she  was  tall  and  slender,  had  large, 
brown  eyes,  which  shone  with  feverish  brightness,  and 
a  face  far  too  sharply  accented,  too  much  worn  out  by 
life  for  so  young  a  person,  but  nevertheless  still  very 
beautiful — and  tliis  girl  was  Leonora. 

"  Strange !  when  I  had  first  heard  her  voice  my  heart 


Through  Night  to  Light.  71 

had  trembled  as  at  the  moment  when  I  stood  at  nii^ht 
before  the  house  in  Fichtenan,  and  the  old  woman  called 
down  to  me  that  Leonora  had  eloped.  But  after  the 
first  spasm  I  felt  calm,  quite  calm.  The  chord  had  been 
stretched  too  far,  it  had  broke  ;  it  now  uttered  not  a 
sound  of  joy  or  of  grief.  I  looked  down  upon  Leonora 
as  coldly  as  if  she  were  a  picture  on  the  wall.  I  heard 
every  word  she  said  to  her  partner,  as  we  hear  words 
just  before  we  are  going  to  faint — as  if  they  had  been 
spoken  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall.  I  examined  her 
from  head  to  foot,  even  her  costume,  with  the  calm  criti- 
cism of  an  artist.  I  noticed  that  she  was  roviged,  and 
that  her  dark  eyebrows  and  lashes  were  dyed  still  darker. 
I  noticed  that  she  wore  her  hair  exactly  in  the  same 
manner  in  which  I  had  myself  once  arranged  it,  after  an 
antique,  and  as  she  had  ever  after  worn  it  as  long  as  I 
knew  her.  I  heard  everything,  I  saw  everything,  and 
yet  I  heard  and  saw  nothing;  for  I  had  no  clear  percep- 
tion of  what  I  saw  and  heard. 

"  My  companion,  who  had  looked  all  around  the  hall 
in  the  meantime,  now  returned  to  where  I  stood.  '  I  have 
not  been  able  to  find  any  one  corresponding  to  your  de- 
scription,' he  said.  '  God  be  thanked  !  I  breathe  more 
freely ;  I  should  not  have  liked,  for  the  world,  to  have 
found  her  whom  we  look  for  in  this  place.  But,  mon 
Dieu,  what  is  the  matter }     You  look  like  a  corpse  !  ' 

"  '  I  have  found  her.' 

"  '  Where  1 ' 

"  '  There  !  ' 

"  He  took  his  glass  and  examined  Leonorg.  for  a  few 
moments  with  most  intense  interest.  She  was  still  per- 
fectly unconscious  of  those  who  were  so  near  to  her, 
and  chatted  and  coquetted  with  her  dancer. 

"  Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  pity  and 
dropped  his  eye-glass.  His  face  had  become  very 
serious. 

"  '  Pauvre  hoinme  !  '  he  whispered  to  himself. 

"The  music  was  breaking  forth  louder  than  ever;  a 
new  figure  began  in  the  Frangaise,  and  it  was  Leonora's 
turn.  She  had  evidently  made  great  progress  in  her  art 
since  the  day  when  I  had  seen  her  last  dance  at  a  club-ball 


72  Through  Night  to  Light. 

in  Fichtenan.  I  can  candidly  say  I  Iiave  never  before  or 
afterwards  seen  anytliing-  more  perfect.  It  was  tlie  en- 
chanting gracefulness  of  a  jet-d'eau  swaying  to  and  fro 
in  the  light  breeze,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  a  passionate 
rapture,  such  as  we  find  nowhere  else  except  perhaps 
among  the  Zingarellas  of  Spain  or  the  Ghawazees  of 
Egypt.  At  one  moment  it  was  the  soft  longing  and 
yearning  of  gentle  and  subdued  love,  at  the  next  mo- 
ment it  was  the  very  soul  of  passion,  trembling  in  every 
nerve  and  vibrating  in  every  muscle,  but  here  as  well 
as  there,  a  beautiful  rhythm  of  marvellously  complicated 
and  yet  ever  harmoniously  united  movements  was  never 
wanting.  This  dance  was  a  song — a  song  of  love — but 
not  of  German  love,  dreamy,  fragrant  with  the  perfume 
of  blooming  lime-trees  and  softened  by  the  pale  light 
of  the  moon,  but  of  sensuous  Oriental  love,  hot  with  the 
burning  rays  of  a  Southern  sun,  and  breathing  narcotic 
voluptuousness.  And  with  all  that,  her  features  were 
calm,  not  a  muscle  moving,  not  a  trace  of  that  repul- 
sive, stereotyped  smile  worn  by  so  many  far-famed 
artists.  Only  her  eyes  burnt  with  uncanny  fire,  which 
blazed  up  brighter  with  every  step,  with  every  motion. 
Her  partner  rather  walked  than  danced  all  the  steps  re- 
quired with  much  elegance,  but  with  a  lofty  carelessness, 
as  if  he  looked  rather  ridiculous  in  his  own  eyes  while 
performing  the  ceremony,  and  this  calm  composure 
seemed  to  make  the  passionate  w^oman  almost  desperate, 
and  determined  to  rouse  him  from  his  weary  apathy  by 
all  the  arts  of  which  she  was  master.  Perhaps  this  was 
really  so ;  perhaps  it  only  looked  so — at  all  events  this 
gave  to  the  dance  a  rich  dramatic  interest,  and  afforded 
the  by-standers  a  most  attractive  sight. 

"'^//,  la  belle  AUemande  !  '  cried  an  enthusiast  near  me. 

" '  G/'dfid  Dieu,  qu'elle  est  jolie  !  '  cried  another ;  '  bravo, 
bravo  !  '  and  he  applauded  energetically  with  both  hands 
till  all  the  by-standers  followed  his  example.  '  Bravo  ! 
bravo  !      Vive  la  reine  Eleonore  !      Vive  la  belle  AUemande  I ' 

"My  friend  seized  my  arm  and  drew  me  further  back  un- 
der the  pillars  near  which  we  had  been  standing.  '  Come !  ' 
he  said.  '  Where  ? '  '  Away  from  here !  '  '  Never !  * 
'  Why,  it  is  impossible  you  can  feel  rin  interest  in  such 


Through  Night  to  Light.  73 

a  creature !  "What  can  you  do  Avith  her  ?  I  tell  you 
she  is  lost !  irreparably  lost !  '  '  We  will  see  that !  '  I 
murmured.  The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
'  You  Germans  are  a  strange  people.  But,  at  least, 
follow  my  advice.  Do  not  make  a  scene  here ;  you 
would  most  likely  have  to  fight  half  a  dozen  duels. 
Call  upon  the  girl  to-morrow,  or  whenever  you  choose. 
I  will  find  out  in  a  few  minutes  all  about  her  residence, 
and  whatever  else  you  may  want  to  know.' 

"  I  saw  that  his  was  sensible  advice.  While  he  slipped 
away  through  the  crowd,  I  threw  myself  into  a  chair 
and  rested  my  head  on  my  hands.  Those  were  terrible 
moments.  My  temples  were  beating,  my  limbs  were 
trembling — and  yet  within  me  all  was  calm,  deadly  calm 
and  quiet.  And,  Oswald,  in  those  moments,  Avhile  I  sat 
there  alone,  my  face  hid  in  my  hands,  in  silent,  unspeak- 
able sorrow,  amid  the  noisy  crowd ;  and  while  mv  idol, 
the  beloved  of  my  youth,  the  woman  whom  I  had  wor- 
shipped in  my  dark  dungeon  like  a  glorious  saint,  was 
dancing  a  few  steps  from  me,  after  a  wicked,  voluptuous 
music,  the  voluptuous  dance  of  Herodias — in  those  mo- 
ments, Oswald,  I  bid  an  eternal  farewell  to  happiness, 
to  life.  It  was  then  the  curtain  u^hich  had  so  long  con- 
cealed from  me  the  Great  Mystery  suddenly  parted  in 
the  middle,  and  I  stood  shuddering  at  the  threshold, 
which  I  yet  dared  not  cross,  and  which  I  only  crossed 
many,  many  years  afterwards,  for  then  I  had  not  yet 
drained  the  cup  to  the  dregs. 

"  The  dance  had  come  to  an  end.  It  became  very 
lively  all  around  me  ;  laughter  and  joking,  the  rustling 
of  rich  dresses  close  to  my  ear.  They  took  seats  at  the 
small  tables,  to  cool  their  fever  with  ices  and  champagne. 
To  my  table  also  came  a  couple,  who  either  could  find 
no  other  place  vacant,  or  thought  the  sleeper  was  not 
likely  to  be  a  dangerous  listener. 

"  '  Et  vous  viaimez,  vraiinent  Eleonore  ?  '  said  a  soft  but 
manly  voice. 

"  *  Oui,  Charles  !  ' 

■"  '  Z)e  tout  votre  cociir  ?  ' 

"  'I?e  tout  vion  coeur  !  ' 

"  I  thought  what  an  impression  it  would  make  upon 
4 


74  Through  Night  to  Light. 

Leonora  if  I  should  suddenly  raise  my  head  from  the 
table  and  say  to  her  :  '  Did  you  not  tell  me  precisely  the 
same  thing  on  the  meadow  in  the  forest  of  Fichtenan?' 
But  I  checked  myself  and  listened  to  the  conversation, 
which  continued  for  some  time.  At  last  the  gentleman 
said : 

"  '  And  when  shall  I  see  you  again  ? ' 

"  '  Whenever  you  wish.' 

"  '  What  does  that  mean  ?  * 

"  '  That  I  am  always  at  home  for  my  friends.' 

"  '  And  Avhere  is  at  home .''  ' 

"  '  Boulevard  des  Capiicines,  JVitmh-o  Dix-sept.  You  have 
only  to  inquire  after  Mademoiselle  Eleonore ' 

"  '  Or  rather  la  Reiue  Eleonore.     Adieu,  ma  reine  !  * 

"  '  You  won't  go  already .''  ' 

"  '  Unfortunately  I  have  to  go.' 

"  '  Why  .?  ' 

"  '  My  betrothed  is  waiting  for  me  at  her  mother's,  and 
she  will  be  inconsolable  if  her  faithful  shepherd  keeps 
her  waiting  much  longer.' 

"  '  You  are  engaged — oh,  poor  man  !  ' 

" '  I  hope,  ma  reine,  you  will  help  me  bear  my  misfor- 
tune t  ' 

"  '  JVo!/s  verrons.' 

"  And  the  two  went  off  laughing ;  Leonora's  silk  dress 
struck  me  as  she  passed. 

"  My  companion  came  back  and  put  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder. 

"  '  I  have  learnt  everything,'  he  said. 

"  '  So  have  I,'  I  replied,  raising  my  head. 

"  '  How  ? ' 

"  '  She  has  told  me  all  herself.' 

"  My  friend  thought  I  was  delirious.  '  Come,'  he  said, 
'the  heat  has  been  too  much  for  you.' 

"  You  may  imagine  that  I  did  not  sleep  much  that 
night.  I  formed  a  thousand  plans  and  rejected  them 
again.  Only  one  thing  was  certain  :  I  must  save  Leo- 
nora from  this  hell.  I  did  not  doubt  what  was  my  duty 
for  a  moment. 

"  And  yet  I  rose  next  morning  without  having  formed 
a  resolution.     I  was  not  afraid  for  myself,  for  my  heart 


Through  Night  to  Light.  75 

could  not  be  torn  more  fearfully  than  it  had  been  torn 
the  night  before.  I  Avas  afraid  only  for  Leonora,  that 
a  sudden  meeting  might  hinuiliate  her  too  fearfully, 
might  kill  her  perhaps.  A  few  days  passed,  and  I  found 
no  better  plan  after  all  than  to  go  straight  to  her.  My 
friend  shook  his  head  whenever  I  spoke  of  my  project. 
'But,  mon  cher,'  he  said  again  and  again,  'don't  you  see 
that  you  still  love  her.?'  Was  he  right .!*  I  do  not 
know.  At  all  events,  this  kind  of  love  was  very  differ- 
ent from  ordinary  love,  for  it  knew  nothing  of  humili- 
ated pride,  of  mortified  vanity — nay,  nothing  even  of 
the  fear  to  become  perhaps  even  ridiculous,  by  attempting 
to  save  a  woman  wlio  did  not  at  all  desire  to  be  saved. 

"  When  I  had  at  last  decided  in  my  own  heart,  I  Avent 
one  forenoon  to  the  house  on  the  Boulevard.  The  por- 
ter smiled  as  he  gave  his  customary  reply :  '  Oui,  mon- 
sieur., an  troisieme  !'  to  my  question,  if  Mademoiselle  Ele- 
onore  was  living  there.  But  he  added  :  Mademoiselle 
will  hardly  be  at  home  for  anybody ;  she  only  came 
home  towards  daybreak.' 

"  I  ascended  the  staircase  covered  with  costly  carpets  ; 
in  the  third  story  I  read  on  a  china  plate  near  a  bell- 
rope  :  '•Mademoiselle  El'eonore  de  Saint  Georges'  How 
many  names  had  the  poor  girl  had,  since  she  had  laid 
aside  the  honest  name  of  her  father } ' 

"  I  rang  the  bell.  An  vigly  woman,  half  waiting-maid, 
half  companion,  and  looking  all  the  uglier  because  of 
the  neatness  of  her  dress  and  the  affected  respectability 
of  her  manner,  opened  and  asked  me  what  I  wanted,  I 
wished  to  see  Mademoiselle  Eleonore. 

"  '  Mademoiselle  is  indisposed  and  cannot  see  anybody 
to-day.' 

"'  But  I  must  see  her.' 

"  '  Impossible,'  said  the  woman,  '  I  have  just  sent  for 
a  doctor.' 

"  '  But,  madame,  I  am  the  doctor.' 

"  '  Ah,  c'est  autre  chose,  entrez,  jnonsicur  le  docteur.' 

"  She  led  me  through  a  small  entry  into  a  lofty,  stately 
apartment,  furnished  with  almost  princely  splendor,  and 
asked  me  to  wait  there  a  few  minutes,  until  her  mistress 
should  be  able  to  see  me. 


•J  6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

" '  Has  mademoiselle  got  up  yet  ? ' 

"  '  Yes ;  I  shall  be  back  in  a  moment.' 
,  "  She  disappeared  behind  a  thick  curtain. 

"  I  remained  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and 
looked  upon  all  the  splendor  by  which  I  was  sur- 
rounded— the  luscious  paintings  by  Watteau  and  Bou- 
cher in  their  broad,  gilt  frames  ;  the  Chinese  pagodas 
iipon  the  marble  mantelpiece  ;  the  vases  and  cups  of  fin- 
est porcelain,  the  luxurious  divans  and  sofas — and  I  felt 
like  the  physician  who  is  looking  upon  the  lace  cuff  of 
a  hand  which  he  is  called  in  to  amputate.  Had  I  not 
come  here  as  a  physician  1  Was  I  not  here  now  under 
the  pretext  of  being  a  physician  ? 

"  The  maid  returned,  and  begged  me  to  follow  her. 
She  drew  back  the  curtain  to  let  me  pass.  I  entered  a 
half-dark  room,  covered  like  all  the  others  with  thick, 
soft  carpets,  and  hung  with  deep  red-silk  hangings,  the 
chamber  of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  and  then  through 
another  curtain  into  a  second  room,  light  and  bright. 
Of  the  furniture  of  this  room  I  saw  nothing ;  I  saw  only 
the  slender,  white  form  which  rose  when  I  entered  from 
the  divan  on  which  she  had  been  resting,  and  now  ad- 
vanced a  few  steps  to  meet  me.  And  this  slender,  white 
form,  with  the  pale,  worn-out,  beautiful  face,  in  which 
the  large  dark  eyes  shone  with  almost  ghastly  brightness 
— this  beautiful  being,  broken  in  body  and  soul,  lost  for 
eternity,  was  my  Leonora,  whom  I  had  worshipped,  and 
who  had  once  been  blooming  like  a  rose  in  innocence 
and  youth ! 

"  '  I  have  sent  for  you,  doctor,'  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Then  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  me.  Her 
lips  grew  silent ;  she  stared  at  me  with  eyes  which 
seemed  to  leap  forth  from  their  orbits ;  then  she  uttered 
a  piercing  cry  and  fell  down,  before  I  or  her  maid 
could  seize  her  in  our  arms. 

"  We  carried  her  back  to  the  divan.  She  was  deadly 
pale  and  cold  ;  I  thought  for  a  moment  the  sudden  blow 
might  have  snapped  the  frail  thread  on  which  her  life 
was  hanging.  I  should  have  hailed  her  death  as  a  res- 
cue from  hell,  as  a  mercy  from  heaven.  But  soon  I  be- 
came convinced  that  life  was  not  going  to  let  her  loose 


Through  Night  to  Light.  77 

for  some  time  yet.  I  knew  enough  of  medicine  to  re- 
member what  was  to  be  done  in  such  an  emergency. 
While  I  was  busy  with  the  fainting  girl,  I  asked  the 
maid  if  Leonora  was  at  all  subject  to  such  attacks; 
what  was  the  general  state  of  her  health  }  The  woman 
thought  it  her  duty  to  drop  her  assumed  respectability 
before  a  physician.  '  She  had  been  only  about  six  months 
in  the  service  of  mademoiselle.  Since  then  matters  had 
gone  down  hill  very  fast  indeed.  But  mademoiselle 
was  really  living  too  fast  in  all  conscience.  Dancing 
every  niglit  till  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
drinking  champagne  without  stopping — no  one  could 
stand  that  long,  least  of  all  a  lady  of  such  delicate  struc- 
ture. She  was  begging  mademoiselle  every  day  to 
abandon  svich  a  life,  but  she  received  always  the  same 
answer  :  the  sooner  it  is  over  the  better.  And  over  it 
will  be  very  soon,'  cried  the  woman  ;  '  and  I  shall  lose 
my  poor  dear  mistress,  whom  I  love  like  my  own  child, 
although  she  does  not  lead  a  life  such  as  she  ought  to 
lead.' 

"  The  invalid  began  to  recover.  I  sent  the  maid  away, 
ordering  her  to  bviy  some  salts  at  the  druggist's ;  for  I 
did  not  want  to  have  any  witness  present  when  Leonora 
should  fully  awake.  The  old  hypocrite  had  hardly  left 
the  room  when  Leonora  once  more  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  me  with  a  confused,  incredulous  glance.  I  no- 
ticed that  in  proportion  as  her  mind  returned  her  horror  at 
my  presence  increased  anew,  and  threatened  to  make  her 
faint  a  second  time.  This  painful  shrinking  from  one 
whom  she  used  to  meet  with  open  arms  was  harder  to 
bear  than  all  the  rest,  and  nearly  moved  me  to  tears.  I 
felt  not  a  trace  of  hatred,  of  Anger,  in  my  heart,  not  even 
of  contempt — no,  nothing  but  pity,  boundless,  unspeak- 
able pity.  I  do  not  know  what  I  said — but  I  must  have 
spoken  good,  mild  words  of  love  and  of  forgiveness,  for 
her  rigid  features  began  gradually  to  become  softer ; 
her  eyes,  dilated  with  horror,  filled  with  tears,  and  at 
last  she  broke  out  into  passionate  weeping,  hiding  her 
head  on  my  bosom  as  I  was  kneeling  by  her  side.  It 
was  a  terrible  weeping;  it  was  as  if  all  the  tears  of  the 
last  years,  which  she  had  concealed  under  laughter  and 


78  Through  Night  to  Light. 

jests,  were  breaking  forth  from  their  deep,  deep  cells, 
and  would  never  cease  to  flow;  and  between  a  sobbing 
as  if  her  heart  were  breaking,  a  crying  as  if  her  inner- 
most soul  were  pierced  by  two-edged  swords.  I  have 
never  in  all  my  life,  either  before  or  afterwards,  wit- 
nessed anytliing  like  this  fearful  breaking  forth  of  re- 
pentance in  a  soul  stained  with  sin,  but  noble  by  nature. 

"  We  seemed  to  have  exchanged  the  parts  allotted  to 
us.  It  looked  as  if  she  had  been  offended,  and  I  Avas  the 
criminal.  I  exhausted  myself  in  prayers,  in  implora- 
tions,  to  pour  soothing  oil  into  her  wounds,  to  calm 
the  terrible  grief  that  was  raging  with  such  violence. 
Gradually  I  succeeded  in  calming  her  after  a  fashion. 
She  wept,  quietly  resting  her  head  on  one  hand,  Avhile  I 
spoke  to  her  holding  the  other  hand — how  white  and 
slender  and  transparent  her  fingers  had  become  ! — spoke 
to  her  as  a  brother  would  speak  to  his  sister  in  such  a 
case.  I  begged  her  to  look  upon  me  as  a  brother,  to 
confide  in  me  as  her  best,  perhaps  her  only  friend.  I 
conjured  by  all  that  was  sacred  to  her,  by  the  meniory 
of  her  youth,  by  the  memory  of  her  parents — who  were 
both  now  resting  under  the  green  turf — to  tear  herself 
away  from  this  whirlpool  which  must  swallow  her  up 
sooner  or  later,  and  to  follow  me.  I  promised  to  take 
her,  if  she  wished  it,  into  a  desert — to  the  very  ends  of 
the  world — only  away,  away  from  this  gilded  wretched- 
ness. 

"  '  It  is  too  late ;  too  late  !  '  she  murmured.  '  You  are 
kind,  I  know ;  inexpressibly  kind  ;  but  it  is  too  late,  too 
late ! ' 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  this  struggle  might  have 
lasted  if  a  strange  episo&e  had  not  occurred,  which 
decided  it  to  my  great  astonishment  quickly  in  my 
favor. 

"  While  I  was  yet  kneeling  at  Leonora's  side,  I  sud- 
denly heard  somebody  say  behind  me :  '  Alais  vraiment, 
c'est  snperbe !'  I  rose,  full  of  horror.  Before  me  stood 
a  young  man  elegantly  dressed,  who  examined  me 
through  his  eye-glass  from  head  to  foot  and  back  again, 
and  then  repeated :  '  Snperbe !  mademoiselle^  I  congratu- 
late you  on  this  new  conquest.' 


Through  Night  to  Light.  79 

"  The  young  man  was  one  of  Leonora's  friends,  whose 
lavish  liberality  had  procured  for  him  the  privilege  of 
being  looked  upon  by  her  as  her  only  lover.  He  knew 
that  Leonora  was  by  no  means  rigorously  faithful  to 
him,  and  did  not  mind  it  much ;  but  he  did  not  like  to 
meet  his  rivals  at  her  house,  which  he  had  furnished  at 
his  own  expense,  and  with  princely  magnificence. 

" '  I  beg  you  will  explain  this  scene,  mademoiselle,' 
he  said,  turning  to  Leonora,  in  a  tone  of  insulting  in- 
difference, which  drove  all  the  blood  from  my  cheeks  to 
the  heart. 

"  I  was  opening  my  lips  to  give  him  an  insulting 
answer,  when  Leonora  anticipated  me.  As  soon  as  she 
had  seen  the  new  comer  she  had  risen,  and  stood  now, 
pushing  me  gently  back,  between  him  and  myself. 

"'This  gentleman,'  she  said,  pointing  at  me,  'has  a 
right  to  be  here.' 

"  '  What  right  .^ ' 

" '  The  riglit  of  one  who  has  been  unfortunate  enough 
to  love  me  once.' 

"'Ah,  mademoiselle,'  replied  the  young  man,  smiling 
ironically,  'the  gentleman  shares  that  misfortune  with 
many  others.' 

"'Sir,'  said  I,  'whatever  claims  you  may  have  upon 
mademoiselle,  I  have  older  claims,  and  I  cannot  allow 
you  to  insult  a  lady  to  whom  I  was  once  engaged  in  my 
presence.' 

"'Ah,'  said  the  young  man;  'you  were  engaged  to 
mademoiselle.  It  is  not  possible !  and  now,  I  dare  say, 
you  propose  to  marry  her,  after  I ' — with  a  glance  at  the 
furniture — 'have  had  the  folly  to  provide  mademoiselle 
with  a  trousseau.    Very  well  conceived,  upon  my  word  ! ' 

" '  Stop,  sir !  '  cried  Leonora,  rising  to  her  full  height, 
'  enough  has  been  said.  You  think  you  can  control  me, 
and  insult  me,  because  I  have  accepted  your  presents. 
Here,  I  return  you  all  you  have  ever  given  me.  There, 
and  there,  and  there!'  and  she  tore  with  feverish  excite- 
ment the  gold  bracelets  and  all  the  jewels  she  wore  from 
her  and  threw  them  at  the  feet  of  the  young  man. 

"The  passion  with  which  she  did  this  was  too  deep 
to  be  for  a  moment  misinterpreted,  and  evidently  made  a 


8o  Through  Night  to  Light. 

great  impression  upon  the  dandy.  *I  have  had  enough 
of  this,*  he  said.  'I  shall  see  you  again,  mademoiselle; 
here  is  my  card,  sir  ! '  and  he  hastened  to  leave  the  room. 

" '  Come  !  come ! '  cried  Leonora ;  '  not  another  moment 
will  I  stay  here.  Rather  at  the  bottom  of  the  Seine  than 
here ! ' 

" '  I  took  her  at  her  word.  I  begged  her  to  change 
her  dress  while  I  wrote  in  her  name  a  few  lines  to  the 
Marquis  de  Saintonges — this  was  the  name  of  Leonora's 
lover — and  placed  the  lodging,  which  he  had  rented  for 
Leonora,  and  everything  he  had  ever  given  her,  once 
more  at  his  disposal.  We  left  the  house,  handed  the 
keys  to  the  porter,  and  gave  the  letter  into  the  hands  of  ;i 
messenger,  who  promised  to  deliver  it  immediately,  and 
a  few  hours  afterwards  I  had  settled  all  my  affairs,  said 
farewell  to  my  friends,  and  the  city  was  several  miles 
behind  us. 

"  Our  journey  was  for  the  present  not  to  be  a  very 
long  one.  A  few  stations  beyond  Paris,  Leonora  be- 
came so  unwell,  we  had  to  stop  in  a  little  town.  The 
physician  who  was  called  in  was  fortunately  an  able 
man,  and  told  me  that  mademoiselle,  my  sister  (for  such 
Leonora  appeared  to  be),  Avas  threatened  with  inflamma- 
tion of  the  brain.  His  diagnosis  was  unfortunately  but 
too  correct.  The  very  next  day  the  terrible  disease 
showed  itself  clearly.  The  poor  sufferer  raved  in  her 
delirium  of  the  hot  orgies  in  the  Jardin  aux  Lilas  and  of 
the  cool  shades  in  her  native  woods,  of  the  Marquis  de 
Saintonges,  and  other  Paris  acquaintances,  and  of  my- 
self, now  appearing  as  her  guardian  angel,  and  now  as 
an  avenging  demon,  while  I  sat  by  her  bedside  and 
meditated  on  our  strange  position.  During  my  eager 
pursuit  of  Leonora  I  had  followed  rather  a  blind  im- 
pulse than  very  clear  motives,  and  never,  in  all  my 
dreams,  had  it  occurred  to  me  that  we  might  be  placed  in 
a  situation  like  that  in  which  I  now  found  myself.  But 
amid  all  my  troubles  one  thought  rose  high  above  all 
doubt :  I  must  never  again  quit  Leonora,  if  she  should 
recover. 

"  After  a  little  while  symptoms  appeared  which  gave 
us  hope,  and  one  fine  morning  the  physician  brought  me 


Through  Night  to  Light.  8i 

the  news  that  a  crisis  had  taken  place  in  the  disease,  and 
that  Leonora  was  for  the  present  out  of  danger.  '  Never- 
theless,' he  added,  with  a  very  serious  expression,  '  I 
must  not  conceal  it  from  you  that,  according  to  human 
calculations,  your  sister  is  not  destined  to  survive  this 
attack  very  long.  I  apprehend  that  her  lungs  are  seri- 
ously affected  ;  she  must  have  been  ill  a  longtime  before 
I  saw  her.  I  do  not  know  your  circumstances,  and  can- 
not tell,  therefore,  whether  you  wuU  be  able  to  follow 
my  advice.  INIy  advice  is  this  :  Go  with  your  sister  to 
a  southern  climate — to  Italy  ;  if  you  can,  to  Egypt.  In  a 
less  genial  climate  mademoiselle  would  succumb  in  a 
very  short  time.' 

"  My  resolution  was  instantly  formed.  I  had  nothing 
more  to  win  and  nothing  to  lose  in  Germany,  where  my 
political  cure  was  to  be  completed  by  a  prohibition  to 
teach  publicly  during  the  next  five  years.  My  means 
had  been  nearly  consumed  during  my  long  wanderings; 
there  was  only  a  small  remnant  left,  but  I  might  spend 
that  sum  just  as  well  in  Italy  as  elsewhere  ;  besides,  I 
hoped  to  derive  abroad  some  advantages  from  my  knowl- 
edge of  languages;  and,  finally,  I  had  no  choice.  I  should 
have  rather  endured  extreme  suffering  than  to  omit 
doing  anything  that  could  benefit  Leonora.  A  few  da3's 
later  we  were  on  our  way  to  Italy. 

"I  settled  down  a  few  miles  from  Genoa,  upon  the 
coast  of  the  glorious  Mediterranean.  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  obtain  a  few  lessons  in  the  family  of  a  rich 
Englishman,  who  had  come  to  the  place  for  the  same 
reasons  which  brought  me  there,  and  thus  I  was  relieved 
of  all  anxiety  on  the  score  of  money  All  the  greater 
was  my  anxiety  for  Leonora. 

"  Our  flight  from  Paris  had  been  so  sudden,  and  was 
for  Leonora  so  entirely  the  result  of  a  momentary  im- 
pulse— her  sickness,  following  immediately  afterwards, 
had  so  completely  broken  down  all  her  energies  that 
she  had  willingly  acceded  to  all  my  arrangements,  and 
was  only  now  coming  to  a  clear  understanding  of  our 
situation — I  had  not  thought  of  it  at  first,  and  became 
aware  of  it  only  now  through  Leonora's  manner  towards 
me — that  in  this  dependence  on  a  man  whom  she  had 
4* 


$2  Through  Night  to  Light.  •^ 

shamefully  betrayed,  and  in  the  constant  company  of 
him  before  whom  she  would  have  loved  to  hide  herself 
in  the  lowest  depth,  she  suffered  probably  the  severest 
punishment  that  could  have  been  inflicted  upon  a  per- 
son in  whom  the  last  spark  of  honor  and  self-respect 
was  hot  extinguished.  Leonora  did  not  hesitate  to  say 
so  ;  but  she  added,  '  the  punishment  is  severe  but  just ;  it 
was  the  only  way,  perhaps,  to  teach  me  how  grievously 
I  had  sinned  against  you.'  While  Leonora  found  thus 
a  soothing  comfort  for  her  conscience  in  her  deep  repent- 
ance, I  had  in  my  unspeakable  sorrow  only  one  very 
modest  consolation  :  to  act  towards  Leonora  as  my  con- 
science dictated.  I  was  at  liberty  to  drain  the  cup  of 
sorrow  to  the  very  last  drop.  That  was  the  fulfilment 
of  all  the  precious  happiness  of  which  I  had  dreamt  so 
much  in  the  golden  days  of  Fichtenan,  and  even  later 
in  the  dark  nights  of  my  imprisonment  in  the  fortress ! 
This  pale,  feeble  form  —  that  walked  slowly  along  the 
sea-coast  in  the  evening  sunlight,  hanging  on  my  arm  and 
never  lifting  up  the  weary  head — she  by  whose  sick-bed 
I  sat  watching  day  after  day,  when  sickness  confined 
her  in  her  room,  and  in  whose  broken  heart  it  had 
become  my  duty  to  pour  soothing  balm,  of  which  I 
stood  so  much  in  need  myself — this  was  the  girl  whom 
I  had  chosen  to  be  my  wife,  and  in  whom  I  had  worship- 
ped, full  of  bright  hopes,  the  mother  of  my  children.  Oh, 
Oswald !  Oswald  !  the  most  fanatical  optimist  might  have 
been  appalled — the  most  orthodox  soul  might  have  been 
led  to  doubt  if  there  were  not  after  all  a  great  deal  of 
truth  in  Voltaire's  assertion,  that  life  was  nothing  but  a 
inauvaise  plaisanterie. 

"  And  yet  it  was  good  for  me  to  pass  through  this 
trial  also.  It  was  a  bitter  medicine ;  but  it  cured  me 
thoroughly  of  that  disease  which  others  call  joy  of  ex- 
istence and  pleasure  in  life. 

"  Leonora's  humility  in  bearing  her  sufferings  put  me 
altogether  to  shame.  In  proportion  as  the  disease  was 
destroying  her  bodily  form,  the  original  beauty  of  her 
soul  began  to  reappear.  She  had  led  a  sinful  life ; 
when  she  died,  she  died  like  a  saint. 

"  It  was  late  in  the  evening.     I  had  carried  the  poor 


Through  Night  to  Light.  83 

sufferer,  who  Avas  specially  excited  on  that  day,  and 
anxiovisly  yearned  after  air  and  light,  in  my  OAyn  arms 
from  the  fisherman's  cottage  \yhich  \ye  occupied,  to  the 
edge  of  the  black  basaltic  rocks  which  here  hang  oyer 
the  sea.  She  was  resting  on  a  couch  formed  of  cushions. 
The  sun  was  setting  in  resplendent  magnificence,  and 
just  sinking  into  the  sea.  Not  a  breath  stirred  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  waters,  and  the  emerald  and  golden 
lights  Ayhich  shone  in  the  sky  were  purely  and  calmly 
reflected  below,  as  in  a  mirror.  Upon  the  pale  face 
of  the  patient  also  fell  an  enchanting  sheen — a  rosy  lie 
— the  lie  with  which  the  sun  and  life  scoff  at  the  night 
and  at  death.  And  in  that  hour  Leonora  took  leaye  of 
the  sun  and  of  life.  She  told  me  that  she  had  always 
loyed  me,  eyen  at  that  mom^t  when  yanity  and  folly 
had  blinded  her ;  that  her  wlrole  life  since  that  day  had 
been  but  a  continuous  effort  to  drown  her  remorse.  She 
did  not  desire  to  liye,  eyen  if  it  Ayere  possible  that  I 
should  eyer  loye  her  again.  She  felt  herself  to  be  un- 
worthy of  being  my  slaye,  much  more  so  of  being  my 
wife.  She  was  shuddering  at  the  mere  thought.  '  Oh 
neyer,  neyer  more,'  she  continued,  and  her  beautiful 
eyes  shone  with  a  supernatural  fire,  '  neyer  upon  this 
earth,  where  I  haye  so  fearfully  sinned  against  you.  But 
when  this  desecrated  body  has  crumbled  into  dust,  and 
the  soul  has  been  freed  from  the  fetters  that  bound  it  to 
the  dust,  then  I  will  hoyer  around  you,  I  will  wait  for 
you ;  and  when  you  come,  your  soul  will  kiss  my  soul, 
and  by  that  kiss  I  shall  know  that  all  has  been  atoned 
for,  that  all  is  forgotten  and  forgiyen.' 

"  I  told  her  that  I  had  long  since  forgiyen  her  fully, 
and  that  I  now  loyed  her  with  a  purer  and  holier  loye 
than  in  the  days  of  our  happiness. 

"  I  kissed,  weeping,  her  white  hands  and  her  pale  lips. 

"'This  is  our  wedding-day,'  she  whispered — 'poor, 
poor  man.'     She  sank  back  upon  the  cushions. 

"  I  carried  her,  quite  exhausted,  back  to  the  cottage 
and  to  her  bed. 

"  It  was  the  last  time. 

"  That  night  Leonora  died." 

Berger  had  risen,  and  Oswald  had  followed  his  ex- 


84  Through  Night  to  Light. 

ample.  The  former  was  entirely  filled  with  the  recollec- 
tions which  had  just  passed  before  his  mind's  eye,  clothed 
by  his  powerful  imagination  with  all  the  accuracy  and 
clearness  of  reality ;  the  latter  thought  of  nothing  but 
what  he  had  just  heard;  and  thus  both  hardly  noticed 
the  road  which  led  them  gradually  higher  and  higher 
through  the  dark  pine  forests. 

Thus  they  found  themselves  suddenly  upon  the  bare 
top  of  the  mountain,  which  the  people  of  the  neighbor- 
hood call  the  Lookout,  and  which  is  by  far  the  highest 
all  around  among  all  the  brothers  and  sisters. 

The  sun  had  set,  but  the  western  sky  was  still  glow- 
ing in  all  the  splendor  of  the  evening  glory,  and  a  faint 
reflex  gave  even  to  the  eastern  horizon  a  faint,  rosy 
tinge.  Here  and  there  one  of  the  higher  mountain-tops, 
steeped  in  purple,  looked  after  the  parting  light  of  the 
day;  but  the  larger  vallef  s  were  already  filled  with  gray 
shadows  of  the  evening,  and  whitish  mists  floated  in  the 
narrower  glens.  The  pine-trees,  whose  heads  rose  from 
below  to  a  level  with  the  travellers'  feet,  stood  calm  and 
rigid,  like  a  breathless  multitude  in  anxious  expecta- 
tion. 

Berger  gazed  into  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun,  rest- 
ing on  his  stick,  and  watching  it  as  every  instant  some 
tinge  vanished  and  another  turned  pale.  Oswald's  eye 
hung  upon  his  features,  which  seemed  every  moment  to 
become  more  and  more  spiritual.  Was  it  the  eff'ect  of 
the  ghastly  light,  or  merely  the  expression  of  Avhat  was 
going  on  within  ,''  Suddenly  Berger  dropped  his  cane, 
spread  out  his  hands  as  if  in  prayer,  and  said :  "  Mother 
Night,  all-powerful  original  Night,  from  whose  bosom 
the  creature  tears  itself  away  in  mad  desire  to  live,  only 
in  order  to  return  after  long  wanderings,  penitent  and 
humiliated,  to  your  faithful  maternal  heart,  I  hail  you, 
even  in  this  faint,  earthly  image !  Yon  bottomless 
bourn  of  oblivion,  yon  sweet  cradle  of  unbroken  rest, 
how  I  long  for  you  with  my  whole  heart !  Oh,  take  it 
from  me,  this  intolerable  burden  of  life ;  spare  me  the 
daily  returning  grief  to  open  these  weary  eyes  to  alight 
which  they  hate;. take  from  me  this  remnant  of  dust, 
which  weighs  me  down  with  its  sinfulness,  and  which 


Through  Night  to  Light.  85 

becomes  only  the  more  painful  as  it  daily  dwindles 
away!  Let  it,  oh,  let  it  quickly  be  consumed  !  I  know 
I  could  quickly  come  to  you  if  I  but  took  a  single  step 
beyond  the  edge  of  this  rock ;  but  even  if  my  bones 
were  broken  into  atoms  below,  my  soul  would  find  no 
rest,  for  it  has  still  a  few  drops  left  in  the  cup  of  life; 
perhaps — who  can  tell  ? — the  very  bitterest  of  them  all. 
No  !  no  !  get  thee  away  from  me,  Satan,  who  allurest  me 
down  into  the  abyss  !  The  abyss  is  not  death;  life  in  all 
its  splendor,  is  true  death.  I  know  thy  old  tricks;  thou 
didst  try  them  with  the  carpenter's  son  of  Nazareth ! 
But  he  rebuked  thee  and  thy  temptations — honor,  power, 
and  the  favor  of  women — ail  he  rejected,  in  order  to 
hunger,  to  thirst,  and  not  to  have  where  he  might  lay 
his  head,  to  wash  off  the  last  remnant  of  earthly  life  in 
the  bloody  sweat  of  the  night  on  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
and  in  order  to  die  the  death  of  a  murderer  on  the  cross 
at  Golgotha!  Oh  that  I  could  go  forth  into  all  the 
world,  to  preach  the  word,  the  sacred  word,  that  frees 
us  now  and  forever — the  word  that  leads  vis  back  again 
to  our  good,  mild,  dear  Mother  Night,  whom  we  have 
left  in  order  to  suffer  infernal  punishment  in  the  bright 
sun-glow  of  life,  while  our  tongue  is  parched  and  our 
temples  are  beating!  The  word,  the  holy,  mysterious 
word,  which  has  become  a  mere  mummery,  a  derision, 
and  a  mockery,  in  the  vain  show  with  which  they  fancy 
they  serve  their  God.  Forgive  them,  oh  Mother,  for 
they  know  not  what  they  do ;  they  would  willingly 
come  to  you  if  they  had  but  ears  to  hear  your  sweet 
voice,  and  eyes  to  see  your  mild  beauty.  I  can  see  your 
holy  face ;  its  smile  fills  me  with  hope  and  comfort.  I 
can  hear  your  voice ;  it  whispers,  '  wait,  wait  but  a  lit- 
tle while,  and  you  shall  sink  back  into  my  faithful  arms, 
back  to  eternal  peace.'  " 

The  rosy  hues  had  vanished  from  the  sky ;  gray  twi- 
light was  spreading  over  the  valleys,  and  the  evening 
breeze  began  to  whisper  and  to  murmur  in  the  tops  of 
the  pine-trees. 

Oswald  was  seized  with  vague  terror.  He  felt  as  if 
that  mystical  night,  which  Berger  had  invoked  in  his 
strange  prayer,  was  chilling  him  already  with  a  breath 


86  Through  Night  to  Light. 

from  the  grave — as  if  the  sun  had  set  never  to  rise  again. 
But  this  fear  was  not  without  a  strange  admixture  of 
delight.  The  narcotic  fragrance  of  thoughts  of  death, 
which  had  been  borne  to  him  on  Berger's  ecstatic  words, 
filled  his  heart,  together  with  the  perfume  of  the  heather 
and  the  aroma  of  the  pines. 

He  thovight  of  Helen  and  of  Melitta,  but  not  with  the 
restless  anxiety  of  the  morning,  but  in  calm  melancholy, 
as  we  think  of  the  departed  whom  we  have  loved.  He 
thought  of  the  troubles  and  blunders  of  his  gay  drama 
in  the  chateau  of  Grenwitz,  but  it  looked  to  him  like  a 
puppet-show  for  children.  He  thought  of  the  future, 
bvit  it  had  no  longer  any  charms  for  him  ;  it  filled  him 
neither  with  hope  nor  Avith  fear;  it  was  as  if  his  whole 
life  were  withdrawing  from  without,  as  if  the  world  were 
not  worthy  of  so  much  love  or  so  much  hatred. 

Thus  he  sat,  resting  his  head  on  his  hands,  upon  a 
large  rock,  and  looked  out  into  the  evening,  which  was 
speading  its  dark  wings  wider  and  wider  over  the 
heavens. 

A  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Come  !  "  said  Berger,  "  let  us  return  to  the  dead  !  " 

They  descended  from  the  summit  and  plunged  into 
the  damp  darkness  of  the  forest.  Berger  seemed  to 
know  every  path  and  every  stone  in  the  mountains.  He 
went  on,  supporting  himself  every  now  and  then  with 
his  stout  cane,  at  a  pace  which  made  it  difficult  for  Os- 
wald to  follow  him,  though  he  was  considered  a  good 
pedestrian. 

Thus  they  had  reached  a  meadow  lying  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  forest.  As  they  followed  the  edge  of  the 
wood  they  suddenly  saw  a  light  glimmering  on  the  op- 
posite side.  It  came  from  the  flame  of  a  pile  of  briars 
which  had  just  been  kindled.  Within  the  bright  circle 
of  the  flames  two  persons  were  visible — a  Avoman,  as  it 
seemed,  and  a  child. 

Oswald's  sharp  eyes  confirmed  him  in  a  suspicion 
which  had  entered  his  heart  at  the  first  glance. 

They  were  Xenobia  and  Czika. 

He  hastened  as  fast  as  he  could  across  the  meadow 
towards  the  fire,  but  he  had  hardly  accomplished  half 


Through  Night  to  Light.  87 

the  distance  when  he  sank  up  to  his  ankles  into  the 
morass.  He  saw  that  he  could  not  go  any  further.  He 
cried  as  loud  as  he  could:  "Xenobia!  Czika  !  it  is  I ! 
Oswald !  " 

But  his  call  had  scarcely  broken  the  peace  of  the 
silent  forest  when  the  fire  vanished,  and  with  the  fire 
the  two  forms  he  had  seen. 

All  was  quiet — quiet  like  death.  Oswald  might  have 
imagined  that  his  fancy  had  played  him  a  trick. 

"  What  was  the  matter.''  "  asked  Berger,  when  Oswald 
joined  him  again. 

"  Did  you  not  see  the  fire  !  " 

"  It  was  a  will-o'-the-wisp  in  the  swamp,"  replied  Ber- 
ger.    "  Let  us  go  on." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

IT  was  completely  dark  when  the  two  wanderers  left 
the  last  spur  of  the  mountain,  and  reached  the  first 
houses  of  the  village.  Oswald,  who  was  for  the 
first  time  in  this  region,  and  whose  sense  of  locality 
Avas  not  strongly  developed,  had  of  course  allowed  him- 
self to  be  entirely  guided  by  Berger,  and  had  expected 
that  the  latter  would  retvirn  by  the  nearest  road  to 
Doctor  Birkenhain's  asylvim.  He  w^as,  therefore,  not  a 
little  surprised  when  he  found  out  that  they  were  ap- 
proaching the  town  from  the  opposite  direction.  There 
were  the  huge  wagons  laden  with  bales,  there  was  the 
wide  court-yard  with  its  hospitably  open  gates,  there  was 
the  green  lamp  burning  in  dismal  dimness  over  the  door 
of  the  house,  and  casting  a  mournful  light  upon  one- 
half  of  the  leaden  hat  which  had  once  shone  in  all  the 
splendor  of  oil-paint,  but  which  had  since  passed  through 
many  a  storm,  losing  its  youthful  freshness  under  the 
action  of  wind  and  weather  and  rain.  There  they  heard 
in  the  low  room  to  the  right  of  the  hall,  with  its  four 
tiny  windows  and  its  dim  light,  the  clinking  of  glasses, 


88  Through  Night  to  Light. 

as  thirsty  guests  knocked  them  impatiently  against  each 
other,  and  the  concentrated  noise  of  some  twenty  male 
voices,  which  were  by  no  means  delicate,  and  yet  insisted 
upon  being  all  heard  at  once. 

It  Avould  scarcely  have  needed  all  these  unmistakable 
signs  to  convince  Oswald  that  he  was  near  the  hospit- 
able roof  of  the  Green  Hat. 

The  sudden  meeting  with  the  gypsies  in  the  forest  had 
reminded  him  most  forcibly  of  this  whole  affair,  which 
Berger's  recital  had  nearly  driven  from  his  mind. 

He  should  have  liked  much  to  consult  Berger  in  this 
matter,  as  the  latter  had  in  former  times  given  him  fre- 
quent opportunities  to  admire  his  skill  in  unravelling 
intricate  situations  and  problematic  characters  ;  but  he 
was  loth  to  trouble  a  mind  which  was  constantly  seek- 
ing the  truth  in  the  mysterious  depths  of  mysticisms, 
Avith  stories  in  which  Director  Schmenckel  was  playing 
the  most  prominent  part. 

What  was  his  amazement,  therefore,  when  Berger 
suddenly  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  Green  Hat,  and 
said  : 

"  I  am  thirsty  ;  let  us  go  in  here  for  a  moment !  " 

"  Here .-'  "  inquired  Oswald,  Avho  shrank  from  the  idea 
of  introducing  the  dreamy,  delicate  man,  with  his  horror 
of  the  mere  odor  of  tobacco,  to  such  vulgar  society. 
"The  company  in  there  is  hardly  suitable." 

"What  does  that  matter.'"  replied  Berger.  "Are 
they  not  the  children  of  men  1  " 

With  these  words  he  entered  through  the  open  house- 
door  into  the  halls  where  yesterday  the  enthusiastic 
admirers  of  art  had  fought  their  battle  royal  with  their 
adversaries,  and  through  the  door  of  the  room  which 
was  also  open  into  the  coffee-room. 

The  appearance  of  the  latter  was  nearly  the  same  as 
on  the  previous  day,  before  and  after  the  fight,  only  that 
the  table  at  which  the  artists  had  their  seats  was  to-day 
much  less  sought  after  by  the  other  guests.  The  glory 
of  artists  is  apt  to  fade  quickly  in  the  eyes  of  men  who 
still  feel  the  smarting  of  the  blows  which  they  have  re- 
ceived a  day  before  on  account  of  this  very  glory,  and 
who  are   prosaic   enough   to   recollect  the  number  of 


Through  Night  to  Light.  89 

glasses  of  beer  which  the  artists  have  drunk  at  their  ex- 
pense, solely  for  the  purpose  of  not  interfering  with 
the  general  good-temper  of  the  company.  Thus  it 
came  about  that  many  who,  in  their  exultation  for  art, 
had  utterly  forgotten  their  old  friends  in  the  blue  over- 
alls and  the  heavy  shoes,  to-night  joined  them  once 
more,  and  granted  to  new  comers  the  privilege  of  listen- 
ing to  Director  Schmenckel's  long  stories,  and  to  pay 
his  long  bills. 

Mr.  Schmenckel  was  far  too  great  a  philosopher  to 
lose  his  good  humor  and  his  temper  on  account  of  this 
insulting  desertion  by  his  friends.  His  fat  face  shone  as 
bright  as  ever — it  was  redder  than  usual,  even,  because  its 
original  color  appeared  still  richer  and  more  intense  in 
contrast  with  a  few  patches  of  black  which  had  become 
indispensable  in  consequence  of  his  figlit  with  Mamselle 
Adele.  His  swollen  eyelids  winked  at  everybody  as 
cunningly  as  ever,  his  linen  was  perhaps  a  shade  less 
white,  but  the  suspenders  had  not  lost  a  line  of  their 
width,  and  none  of  the  embroidered  roses  seemed  to  have 
suffered  in  the  least. 

And  as  rosy  as  this  indispensable  part  of  his  wardrobe, 
was  also  the  temper  of  the  man  whose  broad  bosom  it 
adorned. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  beer,  Cotterby .?  "  he  said,  lay- 
ing his  broad  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  man  of  the 
pyramids. 

"  Sour!"  was  the  laconic  reply;  for  the  hero  had  re- 
ceived but  meagre  applause  to-day,  since  the  genius  in 
the  oak-tree  had  not  been  there  to  hallow  his  flight. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  "  you  are  spoilt,  Cot- 
terby.  It  is  of  course  not  as  good  as  you  drink  it  in 
Egypt,  but  nevertheless  it  is  good,  very  good  indeed. 
Your  health  gentlemen." 

The  director  put  the  glass  to  his  lips,  but  only  swal- 
lowed a  moderate  quantity,  a  circumstance  which  might 
have  convinced  the  impartial  observer  of  the  correctness 
.of  the  judgment  of  the  Flying  Pigeon,  whose  beer  had 
not  been  paid  for  to-night  by  enthusiastic  admirers  of 
art. 

At  that  moment  Berger  and  Oswald  entered  the  room 


go  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  approached  a  table  at  Avhich  the  artists  sat,  because 
it  had  some  vacant  seats.  Mr.  Schmenckel's  observant 
eye  had  scarcely  seen  the  new  comers — whom  he  recog- 
nized instantly  as  the  insane  young  count  of  the  day  be- 
fore, and  an  old  gray-bearded  fellow  of  curious  appear- 
ance whom  the  count  had  picked  up  for  his  amusement 
after  the  escape  of  the  gypsies — when  he  rose  from  his 
seat,  went  up  to  Oswald,  bowed  low  before  him,  and  said, 
with  a  voice  which  he  intended  should  be  distinctly 
heard  all  over  the  room, 

"  Ah,  your  excellency,  count,  that  is  nice  in  you,  that 
you  come  to  call  upon  a  poor  artist  in  his  lowly  inn. 
Sit  down  here  by  the  side  of  Director  Schmenckel ! 
Move  on  a  little,  Cotterby  !  That's  it !  Now,  gentle- 
men, take  your  seats;  delighted  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, old  fellow,  much  honor.  Two  fresh  glasses  of 
beer  for  the  gentlemen,  and  one  for  Director  Schmenc- 
kel !  Empty  your  glass,  Cotterby  !  So,  now  bring  four 
glasses  !  Who  would  have  thought  that  we  should  have 
such  excellent  company  to-night .'' "  and  Mr.  Schmenc- 
kel rubbed  his  hands  with  delight  as  Oswald  and  Ber- 
ger  took  seats  in  his  immediate  neighborhood. 

"  Well,  here  is  the  beer — fresh  from  the  cask,  my  an- 
gel— well,  all  the  better !  Here  gentlemen  !  Your  health, 
count,  and  your  health  also,  old  man!  Ah!  that  was 
the  first  mouthful  I  have  relished  this  evening.  Odd ! 
is  it  not.?  Bad  company  spoils  good  beer;  good  com- 
pany makes  bad  beer  good  !  Am  a  lover  of  sociability, 
count.  See  that  you  are  another.  Will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  introduce  me  to  the  old  gentleman  .''  Direc- 
tor Schmenckel  likes  to  know  with  whom  he  has  to  do." 

Oswald  glanced  at  Berger  to  see  what  ^impression 
was  made  upon  him  by  this  company  and  these  sur- 
roundings, and  to  judge  from  that  what  he  had  better 
do  for  Director  Schmenckel.  To  his  astonishment, 
Berger  seemed  to  listen  to  the  prattle  of  the  rope-dancer 
with  some  interest.  He  had  hung  his  hat  upon  the  back 
of  the  chair,  placed  the  cane  by  his  side,  and  was  now 
leaning  with  both  arms  upon  the  table,  exactly  like  one 
who  does  not  intend  to  leave  the  place  very  soon 
again. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  91 

"  My  name  is  Berger,"  he  answered  to  the  director's 
question. 

"  Professor  Berger,"  added  Oswald,  with  the  good 
intention  to  make  an  impression  upon  Mr.  Schmenc- 
kel  by  the  title,  and  to  put,  if  possible,  a  check  upon  his 
familiarity. 

"  Professor !  "  repeated  Mr.  Schmenckel,  with  a  look 
at  Berger's  blue  blouse  and  ill-kept  beard.  "  Ha  !  ha  ! 
ha !  Very  good  !  May  I  make  you  acquainted  with  my 
friend  Cotterby  ?  Mr.  John  Cotterby,  of  Egypt,  known 
as  the  Flying  Pigeon.  Mr.  Berger,  known  as  Profes- 
sor!    Ha  !    ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  Shall  we  go  again,"  inquired  Oswald,  who  was  se- 
riously embarrassed  by  Mr.  Schmenckel's  conduct. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  stay  a  little  longer,"  replied 
Berger. 

"Your  fist,  old  boy!"  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  seizing 
Berger's  small  thin  hand  and  shaking  it  warmly.  "  I 
like  you  prodigiously.  When  your  tile  is  losing  its 
glue,  and  your  blouse  is  going  to  tatters  completely, 
you  must  come  to  me.  Director  Schmenckel  will  be  de- 
lighted to  receive  a  man  like  you  as  a  member  of  his  com- 
pany. Your  beard  alone  is  an  ornament  for  the  whole 
land.  You  would  create  a  sensation  in  a  pantomime. 
What  did  you  think  of  our  performance  to-day,  count }  " 

"  I  was  unfortunately  unable  to  see  it,"  replied  Oswald, 
encouraged  by  a  smile  upon  Berger's  lips  to  continue 
the  strange  conversation. 

"  Oh,  you  have  lost  much,  indeed  very  much,"  said 
the  director  in  a  tone  of  sincere  regret,  shaking  his  huge 
head  slowly  to  and  fro.  "  The  performance  was  by  far 
the  finest  we  have  given  for  a  long  time.  Director 
Schmenckel  has  convinced  everybody  that  the  absence 
of  a  few  estimable  members  of  his  company  could  in  no 
wise  impair  the  general  efficiency  of  the  same.  I  do 
not  mean  myself — although  the  world-famous  Schmenc- 
kel-play,  with  three  cannon-balls  of  forty-eight  pounds 
each,  has  never  yet  been  imitated  by  anybody  in  this 
world,  and  my  fonfaine  d'argent,w\ih.  ten  silver  balls,  is  as 
yet  unequalled.  But,  gentlemen,  you  ought  to  have 
seen  Mr.  Cotterby  on  the  trapeze ;  I  tell  you  the  ring- 


92  Through  Night  to  Light. 

tailed  apes  of  the  Island  of  Sumatra  are  miserable 
bunglers  in  comparison — absolutely  miserable  bunglers  ! 
And  then  Mr.  Stolsenberg  with  his  gigantic  cask  !  I 
tell  you — come  nearer,  Stolsenberg.  An  artist  such  as 
you  are  need  not  be  so  very  modest,  and  the  count  here 
does  not  mind  another  glass  of  beer,  or  even  several  ; 
he  is  not  like  ordinary  men.  And  then  Mr.  Pierrot,  as 
disloqueur  ! — come  this  way,  Pierrot !  Artists  ought  al- 
ways to  keep  to  each  other.  I  tell  you,  count,  your 
penknife  is  a  ramrod  in  comparison  with  Mr.  Pierrot. 
I  have  said  it  again  and  again  :  Pierrot,  if  we  ever  should 
travel  by  rail  together,  I  mean  to  pay  only  for  myself; 
I  shall  put  you  in  my  hat-box.  Ha!  ha  !  ha  !  A  clever 
idea  !  Is  it  not,  count }  But  the  professor's  glass  is 
empty,  and  by  this  and  that  one  mine  is  empty  too  !  I 
verily  believe  that  man  Stolsenberg  has  secretly  emp- 
tied my  glass,  and  his  own  into  the  bargain  !  Yovi  had 
better  drink  yours  too,  Pierrot.  You  will  save  the  pretty 
waiting-maid  some  trouble.  Here,  my  angel,  live  fresh 
glasses  ;  but  really  fresh,  my  beauty — fresh,  like  the  roses 
on  your  cheeks.  Fond  of  pretty  women,  count .'' — such 
a  pretty  child,  with  brown  eyes,  dark  hair,  and  a  slight, 
graceful  person,  like  Czika.''  Eh?  Just  let  her  grow 
a  few  years  older  and  you'll  see  something;  she'll  give 
you  pleasure  !  " 

"  Have  you  any  news  about  them.?  "  asked  Oswald. 

Mr.  Schmicnckel,  who  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of 
what  could  have  become  of  the  two  gypsies,  but  who 
considered  it  wrong  to  destroy  all  hope  of  meeting  the 
last  object  of  his  mad  fancy  in  the  heart  of  a  man  who 
was  immensely  rich  and  passionately  fond  of  young 
gypsy-children,  winked  cunningly  with  his  swollen  eyes, 
put  his  fat  finger  against  his  nose,  and  said :  "  Are  not 
far  from  here,  in  the  woods — have  certain  information — 
can  get  her  when  I  want  her — don't  want  her,  though — 
women  must  have  time  to  get  over  their  tantrums — then 
they  come  of  their  own  account,  and  are  thoroughly 
cured  of  their  fancies.  Yes,  you  have  to  know  them  well ! 
Women  are  troublesome  people  to  deal  with,  only  tliey 
are  all  alike — and  yet  not  one  is  like  the  other  What 
do  you  think  about  that,  old  boy.?  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  93 

"  I  think  you  a  great  philosopher,  from  whom  one 
might  learn  a  great  deal  yet,"  replied  Bcrger,  looking 
with  a  curious  smile  into  Mr.  Schmenckel's  face. 

"  Well,  I  should  think  so,"  said  the  director,  throwing 
out  his  capacious  chest  and  resting  his  hands  on  his 
hips.  "  Mr.  Schmenckel,  of  Vienna,  knows  where  the 
hare  burrows,  and  the  man  who  wants  to  lead  him  astray 
has  to  rise  early  in  the  morning.  But,  may  I  be  this  or 
that,  it  is  no  wonder  after  all  if  I  know  rather  better 
than  others  how  the  world  wags ;  I  have  been  shaken 
'about  in  it,  upside  and  down,  round  and  round  and 
round,  like  a  cork  in  an  empty  bottle." 

"  An  empty  bottle,"  said  Berger.  "  That's  a  capital 
comparison  ;  perfectly  correct.  How  did  you  get  hold 
of  that.'  " 

"  How  I  got  hold  of  it  .'*  "  replied  the  director  with  an 
air  of  .'astonishment.  "  How  I  got  hold  of  it .'  Proba- 
bly, because  I  have  an  empty  glass  standing  before  me. 
Ha,  ha,  ha." 

"  It  looks  as  if  you  had  not  been  displeased,  so  far,  with 
the  beverage  of  life,"  said  Berger,  while  Mr.  Schmenckel 
made  use  of  the  interval,  till  the  new  glass  of  beer  could 
come,  to  fill  his  short  clay  pipe. 

"  Well,  and  why  not .''  "  replied  the  director,  lighting 
his  pipe  at  the  flame  of  the  tallow  candle  that  stood 
near  him  on  the  table,  and  disappearing  for  a  few  mo- 
ments from  the  sight  of  the  by-standers  in  thick,  blue 
clouds.  "  Life  is  a  prodigiously  funn)'  thing  for  a  man 
who  knows  what's  what,  like  Caspar  Schmenckel,  of 
Vienna.     Thanks,  my  angel !  " 

"  I  am  not  your  angel,  sir,"  said  the  girl,  snappishly,  as 
she  pushed  back  violently  the  arm  with  whicli  Mr. 
Schmenckel  had  embraced  her  waist,  and  casting  a 
stolen  glance  at  Oswald. 

Mr.  Schmenckel's  only  reply  to  this  insulting  correc- 
tion was  this  :  he  pressed  the  five  finger-tips  of  his  right 
hand  against  his  thick  lips  and  cast  a  kiss  after  the  girl 
as  she  slipped  out,  and  then,  closing  his  left  eye,  winked 
cunningly  with  the  other  at  Oswald,  who  was  sitting  on 
the  opposite  side. 

"  Nice  girl,  your  excellency,  isn't  she .''     Pretends  to 


94  Through  Night  to  Light. 

eat  me  up  alive,  and  is  head  over  ears  in  love  with 
me." 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  successful  with  ladies,"  said 
Oswald,  merely  in  order  to  say  something. 

"  Well,  can't  complain,  your  excellency,"  said  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  laughing  complacently.  "  Women  are  like 
the  weather.  To-day  too  hot,  and  to-morrow  too  cold ; 
to-day  sunshine,  and  to-morrow  rainy  weather.  Must 
take  everything  as  it  comes  from  them,  just  as  from  the 
Great  One  above." 

"  I  should  think  that  depended  solely  upon  yovirself," 
said  Berger,  whose  look  dwelt  imperturbably  upon  his 
jovial  companion,  as  if  his  mind  could  not  comprehend 
so  remarkable  a  phenomenon. 

"  How  so,  old  fellow  ?  You  think  I  should  let  them 
alone,  every  one  of  them .-'  Well,  old  gentleman,  that 
might  do  very  well  for  you  ;  but  of  Caspar  Schmenckel, 
of  Vienna,  you  cannot  expect  such  a  thing.  The  deuce! 
Leave  them  alone .''  Why,  I  had  rather  be  dead  and 
buried  !  " 

"That  would  certainly  be  the  best  of  all,"  said  Ber- 
ger. 

"  Look  here,  old  gentleman,"  replied  the  director, 
with  an  effort  to  be  serious,  which  sat  very  oddly  upon 
him.  "  Don't  commit  such  a  sin  !  I  tell  you  again, 
life  is  a  mighty  good  thing,  and  we  must  not  paint  the 
devil's  likeness  on  the  wall.  Oh,  pshaw  !  Why  do  you 
let  your  beer  grow  stale,  and  make  a  face  like  a  tan- 
ner whose  skins  have  been  washed  down  the  stream  .? 
Come,  drink  a  glass  with  Caspar  Schmenckel  !  Well, 
that's  right !  Schmenckel  is  a  merry  fellow,  and  likes 
to  be  in  company  with  merry  fellows.  Well,  gentle- 
men, what  do  you  say,  shall  we  have  a  nice  song.''  Cot- 
terby,  you  have  a  voice  like  a  nightingale  !  Come, 
fall  in  !  Does  your  excellency  know  the  song  of  the 
midges }  " 

"  No  ;  but  let  us  hear  it." 

"  Well,  here  goes  ;  Stolsenberg,  Pierrot,  fall  in  !  " 

And  Mr.  Schmenckel  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  began  with  a  tremendous 
bass  voice,  while  his  three  friends  sang  chorus  : 


Through  Night  to  Light.  95 

"  Good  morning,  fiddler, 
Why  are  you  so  late? 
Retreating,  advancing. 
The  midges  are  dancing, 
With  the  little  killekeia 
With  the  big  cumcum. 

"  Then  came  the  women, 
With  scythe  and  sickle, 
To  keep  the  midges 
From  dancing  like  witches, 
With  the  little  killekeia. 
With  the  big  cumcum." 

"Well,  gentlemen,  isn't  that  a  fine  song?  "  cried  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  after  having  finished  oft"  the  remarkable 
air  by  pummelling  the  table  with  both  hands  so  that  the 
glasses  began  to  dance. 

"  Very  fine,"  said  Berger  ;  "  do  you  know  any  more.''  " 

"Hundreds,"  replied  Mr.  Schmenckel,  "but  Mr.  Cot- 
terby  knows  the  best.     Sing  us  a  solo,  Cotterby." 

The  Egyptian  smiled  complacently,  twisted  his  small, 
jet-black  moustache,  and  passed  his  hand  through  his 
dark,  well-oiled  hair,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  closed  his 
eyes  half,  and  began  in  quite  a  pleasant  tenor  voice : 

"  A  peasant  had  a  pretty  wife, 
She  loved  to  stay  at  home. 
She  begged   her  husband  by  her  life, 
To  go  abroad  and  roam. 
Through  the  grass  and  through  the  hay, 
Through  the  grass — alas  ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha  ;  ha,  ha,  ha  ;  hideldeedee  ! 
Hurrah  !    hurrah  ! 
To  go  abroad,  and  in  the  grass." 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho !  "  laughed  the  director.  "  That  is  a  good 
song — very  good.  That  reminds  me  of  a  pretty  story, 
which  I  will  tell  if  you  say  so,  gentlemen.  You  can 
finish  the  song  afterwards,  Cotterby." 

The  Egyptian  seemed  to  take  it  rather  amiss  that  he 
was  thus  interrupted ;  but  Mr.  Schmenckel  did  not 
notice  it,  or  did  not  choose  to  notice  it.  He  took  a  long 
pull  at  his  glass  of  beer,  and  said  to  the  waiting  maid, 
whom  the  song  or  the  presence  of  the  young,  distin- 
guished stranger  had  brought  back  to  the  table, 


96  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  You  go  a  little  outside,  my  angel.  The  story  which 
Director  Schmenckel  is  going  to  tell  is  not  made  for 
young  girls." 

The  pretty  girl  blushed  up  to  her  ears  and  ran  away, 
looking  back  for  a  moment  at  Oswald.  INIr.  Schmenckel 
cleared  his  voice,  leaned  over  the  table,  and  began  with 
a  voice  which  sounded  all  the  hoarser  for  his  efforts  to 
subdue  it : 

"  Gentlemen,  you  know  that  all  thinking  men  divide 
women  into  two  classes — such  as  serve,  and  such  as  are 
served.  But  love  knows  no  such  distinction,  for  love 
masters  them  all.  I  have  myself  experienced  this  very 
often  in  life,  but  it  has  never  become  quite  so  clear  to 

me  as  some "    Here  Mr.  Schmenckel  looked  almost 

anxiovisly  around,  to  see  that  no  unauthorized  ear,  espe- 
cially no  female  ear,  should  catch  the  chronological  fact 
which  he  was  about  to  mention.  "  Some  twenty  years 
ago,  in  St.  Petersburg.  Have  any  of  the  gentlemen  ever 
been  in  St.  Petersburg.'  " 

They  said  no. 

"  How  did  you  get  to  St.  Petersburg  .?  "  inquired  the 
hopeful  son  of  a  citizen  of  Fichtenan,  who  had  in  the 
meanwhile  joined  the  company. 

"  Schmenckel,  of  Vienna,"  replied  the  director,  in  a 
dogmatic  tone  of  voice,  "  has  been  everywhere.  You 
may  expect  him,  therefore,  at  any  place  on  earth.  St. 
Petersburg,  gentlemen,  is  a  beautiful  city,  as  you  may 
judge  from  the  fact  that  the  palaces  of  the  emperor  and 
of  all  the  great  nobles  are  cut  of  bkie  and  white  ice, 
which  shines  brilliantly  in  the  sun." 

"  How  can  that  be,"  inquired  again  the  man  from 
Fichtenan  ;  "don't  they  melt  in  summer.'  " 

"  In  summer,"  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  by  no  means 
taken  aback  ;  "in  summer.?  Why,  what  are  you  think- 
ing of.'  I  tell  you,  sir,  in  St.  Petersburg  there  is  no 
summer.  Snow  and  ice,  ice  and  snow,  all  the  year  round, 
from  one  New  Year's  Eve  to  the  next  New  Year's  Eve. 
You  have  no  idea,  in  your  country  here,  of  such  a  cold ; 
the  human  mind  can't  conceive  it.  I  tell  you,  the  breath 
from  your  mouth  falls  instantly  as  snow  to  the  ground, 
and  when  two  persons  have  been  talking  to  each  other  for 


Through  Night  to  Light.  97 

some  time  in  the  street,  a  heap  is  formed  between  them 
so  high  that  when  they  part  they  have  to  climb  up  in 
order  to  be  able  to  shake  hands.  Why,  it  is  so  cold 
there  that  the  milk  freezes  in  the  cow ;  and  when  you 
say :  here,  give  me  a  glass  of  beer,  or  a  little  mug-full, 
the  Petersburg  people  say :  give  me  a  slice,  for  the  beer 
freezes  into  a  thick  syrup,  and  is  not  poured  out,  but 
cut  into  long,  thin  slices,  put  upon  buttered  bread,  and 
eaten  in  that  way." 

"That  must  be  quite  uncomfortable,"  remarked  the 
oldest  guest  of  the  Green  Hat. 

"  Every  land  has  its  ways,"  replied  ]Mr.  vSchmenckel. 

"  But  we  know  that  expression,  too,"  said  the  fat  land- 
lord, who  had  come  up  to  the  table. 

"  Well,  then,  just  let  me  have  a  slice,  my  good  man," 
said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  draining  his  glass  and  handing  it 
over  his  shoulder  to  the  landlord,  "  but  Christian  measure, 
if  you  please ! 

"  In  one  word,"  continued  the  director,  after  he  had 
graciously  accepted  the  applause  which  his  wit  received 
as  a  tribute  due  to  his  superiority,  and  after  trying  cau- 
tiously the  contents  of  the  new  glass,  "  in  a  word,  St. 
Petersburg  is  a  fine  city,  and  when  you  see  how  the  sun 
glitters  on  all  the  ice  palaces,  and  how  the  Russians,  wrap- 
ped in  their  bearskins,  drive  furiously  through  the  streets 
in  their  sleighs  with  four  reindeers  abreast,  you  feel  as  if 
your  heart  was  laughing  within  you  with  delight,  and  you 
must  go  into  the  nearest  shop  to  take  a  good  glass  of  gin. 

"  Well,  then,  we  were  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  liked  it 
mightily.  We — that  is  to  say,  the  famous  circus  company 
of  my  uncle,  who  was  the  director,  Francis  Schmenc- 
kel, and  myself,  who  had  the  honor  to  be  engaged  as 
Hercules — I  can  say  that  we  created  a  sensation,  espe- 
cially our  horses;  for  the  Russians  know  horses  only 
from  hearsay.  The  emperor  alone  has  two  or  three 
shaggy  creatures  that  look  like  big  dogs  in  his  stables. 
Everybody  else,  as  I  said  before,  drives  only  reindeer — 
even  the  cavalry  is  mounted  in  that  way ;  and  I  can 
assure  you,  gentlemen,  that  a  Russian  cuirassier  of  the 
guards,  mounted  on  his  reindeer  stallion,  is  not  so  bad 
a  sight  after  all. 
5 


pS  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  We  had  immense  audiences.  The  emperor  and  the 
whole  court  were  every  evening  at  the  circus.  His 
majesty  applauded  so  furiously  that  he  had  to  put  on  a 
new  pair  of  white  kid  gloves  every  five  minutes,  because 
he  had  torn  the  others  to  pieces.  During  the  entire  act 
I  had  to  be  on  my  post  at  the  door  of  the  Imperial  box, 
so  tliat  I  could  show  his  majesty  the  way  behind  the 
scenes  and  into  the  stables,  where  his  majesty  conde- 
scended to  pat  the  best  animals  most  graciously  on  the 
neck,  and  to  pinch  the  cheeks  of  the  handsomest  ladies 
in  the  company,  Avith  his  own  hand.  But  more  than 
anybody  else  did  I  enjoy  the  emperor's  favor.  I  cannot 
tell  exactly  why !  I  only  know  that  the  emperor  sent 
for  me  to  his  box  the  very  first  night,  and  said  to  me 
before  the  whole  court :  '  Mr.  Schmenckel,  you  are  not 
only  the  strongest  but  also  the  handsomest  man  I  have 
ever  seen.  Ask  a  favor!'  'Your  majesty,'  I  replied, 
bowing  gracefull)',  'I  ask  only  for  a  continuance  of 
your  favor,  which  I  esteem  above  all  things  else.'  'That 
you  shall  have,  and  patents  of  nobility  into  the  bargain,' 
exclaimed  his  majesty,  most  enthusiastically.  '  Give  me 
your  strong  hand,  Mr.  von  Schmenckel ;  with  a  company 
of  men  like  yourself,  I  would  dictate  laws  to  the  whole 
world.' 

"  From  that  moment  Ave  Avere  SAVorn  friends.  '  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  come  this  CA'ening  and  take  a  cup  of  cara- 
A^an  tea  Avith  me  !  Will  you  drink  a  glass  of  Avulki  punch 
Avith  me  to-night,  after  the  performance  is  over.'  dear 
von  Schmenckel.  You  know,  quite  cntre  nous,  perhaps, 
a  fcAV  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  my  court.  Will  you 
come  .' '     That  was  the  Avay,  day  by  day. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  Mr.  Schmenckel,  of  Vienna,  is  not 
a  proud  man,  but  he  likes  to  be  in  good  company " 

Here  Mr.  Schmenckel  made  a  courteous  bow  to  the  by- 
standers, and  continued  : 

"And  an  emperor  is,  after  all,  ahvays  an  emperor,  and 
it  is  a  pleasure,  Avhich  I  Avill  not  deny,  to  be  on  such 
terms  of  intimacy  Avith  such  a  man. 

"  Those  Avere  famous  evenings  Avhich  I  spent,  so  to  say, 
in  the  bosom  of  the  imperial  family.  The  gentlemen  of 
the  court  Avere  very  pleasant  people,  and  the  ladies " 


Through  Night~to  Light.  99 

Mr.  Schmenckcl  closed  his  eyes,  kissed  his  hand  towards 
the  ceiling,  and  sent  a  deep  sigh  after  the  winged-messen- 
ger of  his  love.  "The  ladies  !  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  he 
who  has  not  seen  the  women  of  Russia,  has  not  seen  any 
women  at  all.  Such  hair,  such  eyes,  such  figures,  such 
fire  ;  and  if  Schmenckcl,  of  Vienna,  was  to  live  four 
thousand  years,  he  would  never  forget  the  winter  in  St. 
Petersburg  ! 

"  The  Russian  women  are  beautiful,  and  vou  may  feel 
a  little  twitch  of  envy,  gentlemen,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
had  the  pick  among  the  fairest  of  the  fair.  You  may 
think  that  sounds  like  brag,  gentlemen,  but  I  cannot 
help  it,  it  was  so.  They  sent  me  whole  wagon-loads  of 
locks  of  hair,  bouquets  and  little  notes,  which  always  be- 
gan thus  :  '  Divine  Schmenckcl,  or  Apollo  Schmenckcl,' 
and  always  ended  thus:  '  Meet  me  at  such  and  such  a 
place,  at  such  and  such  an  hour.' 

"  But,  as  it  happens  most  frequently  in  such  cases,  she 
whose  favor  I  should  have  valued  most  highly  was  not 
one  of  my  admirers.  This  was  a  young  and  very  beau- 
tiful lady,  whom  I  saw  every  evening  at  the  circus ;  but 
she  always  assumed  a  prodigiously  haughty  and  reserved 
air,  although  I  invariably  made  her  a  special  bow  when 
they  applauded. 

'"  How  do  you  like  our  ladies.'''  the  emperor  asked 
me  one  evening  as  we  were  walking,  arm-in-arm,  up  and 
down  the  reception  room. 

"  '  So  so  !  your  majesty,'  I  replied,  for  discretion  was 
always  Caspar  Schmenckel's  special  gift. 

"  '  You  are  hard  to  please,'  said  the  emperor.  '  How 
do  you  like  the  little  Malikowsky  }  ' 

"  '  What  name  was  that .'' '  suddenly  asked  Berger, 
who  had  been  sitting  immovably,  his  brow  buried  in 
his  hand,  and  who  now,  for  the  first  time,  raised  his 
head. 

"  Malikowsky,  old  gentleman,  "  repeated  Mr.  Schmenc- 
kcl. "Another  Russian  slice,  landlord.  With  your 
leave,  gentlemen,  I'll  fill  my  pipe  once  more." 

Oswald  looked  at  Berger.  He  felt  as  if  a  strange 
nervous  twitching  was  agitating  his  calm,  serious  fea- 
tures, and  as  if  the  eyes  betrayed  an  unusual  excitement 


loo  Through  Night  to  Light. 

but  the  next  moment  Berger  had  again  hid  his  brow  in 
his  hand.     Mr.  Schmenckel  continued  his  storv  : 

"  '  The  little  Malikowsky  .? '  I  asked.    '  Who  is  she.'  ' 

" '  Have  you  never  noticed  a  lady  in  black  who  sits 
very  near  the  imperial  box  ?  Pale  face,  large  eyes,  chin 
rather  long .? ' 

"  'Certainly,  your  majesty  ;  but  she  seems  to  be  a  shy 
bird.' 

" '  Nonsense !  dear  Schmenckel ;  sheer  nonsense  !  Be- 
tween us  be  it  said,  the  lady  once  stood  in  somewhat 
nearer  relations  to  our  house  than  I  liked.  We  have 
given  her  a  husband,  a  Polish  nobleman  who  was  ruined  ; 
her  reputation  was  not  very  good,  his  is  very  bad ;  he 
has  nothing,  she  has  half  a  million  souls '  " 

"How  much  is  that  in  Prussian  money.''"  inquired 
the  fat  habitue  of  the  Green  Hat,  who  kept  a  grocery- 
store  in  the  town. 

"  Five  million  dollars,  twenty-six  silver  groschen,  and 
fourpence — '  thus  they  suit  each  other  exactly.  When 
she  wants  to  get  rid  of  him  for  a  time,  she  sends  him  to 
his  estates  in  Poland.  Just  now  he  is  again  on  his  trav- 
els. You  had  better  make  a  conquest  of  her,  and  I  will 
say  then  that  Schmenckel,  of  Vienna,  is  not  only  the 
strongest  and  the  handsomest,  but  also  the  luckiest  man 
on  earth.' 

"  '  Your  majesty's  wish  is  my  command,'  I  replied, 
and  went  home  considering  how  I  could  win  the  heart 
of  the  beauty.  '  Only  by  doing  something  which  no 
man  ever  yet  has  been  able  to  do,'  I  said  to  myself,  and 
then,  gentlemen,  it  was  I  invented  the  famous  Schmenc- 
kel-play,  with  the  three  cannon  balls  of  forty-eight 
pounds  each.  On  the  first  evening  I  played  with  one 
of  them  as  with  a  boy's  ball — she  smiled;  on  the  second 
I  played  with  two — she  clapped  her  tiny  hands ;  on  the 
third  I  played  with  all  three  of  them — she  threw  me  a 
bouqviet.  I  was  sure  of  my  success  now.  But  here, 
gentlemen,  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  me  if  I  follow  my 
invariable  custom  when  a  lady  is  mentioned  in  my  re- 
collections, and  if  I  only  suggest,  therefore,  in  a  general 
way,  that  the  same  evening  a  pretty  maid  presented  her- 
self at  my  rooms  and  asked  me  to  follow  her  to  her 


Through  Night  to  Light.  loi 

mistress  who  was  dying  of  love  for  me.  I  may  add  lliat 
Schmcnckcl,  of  Vienna,  has  too  good  a  heart  to  let  any- 
body die  for  him,  and  least  of  all  for  love  for  him,  if  he 
can  help  it,  and  that  the  next  four  weeks  belonged  to 
the  happiest  of  his  whole  life." 

"You  are  a  fortunate  man,  director,"  said  the  native 
of  Fichtenan,  who  had  been  for  four  years  secretly  in 
love  with  the  daughter  of  an  alderman,  and  had  already 
triumphed  so  far  over  all  obstacles  as  to  have  obtained, 
almost,  a  kiss  from  her. 

"  As  you  take  it,  young  man,"  replied  Mr.  Schmenckel, 
with  paternal  benevolence,  "  where  there  is  much  light, 
there  must  also  be  dark  shadows.  I  ought  properly  to 
let  my  story  end  here,  but  I  suppose  I  must  finish  it 
for  the  benefit  of  such  young  hot-blooded  creatures  as 
you  are.  Master  Miller,  and  you  Cotterby,  you  abomina- 
bly fast  man,  and  you  Pierrot,  the  greatest  scamp  I  know. 
Well,  just  listen,  gentlemen!  The  pretty  maid  was  not 
less  passionately  fond  of  me  than  her  mistress,  for,  as  I  said 
just  now,  in  that  matter  of  love  all  the  women  are  alike. 
What  happens,  therefore }  One  fine  evening,  as  I  was 
drinking  my  cup  of  tea  with  the  lady — in  all  honor  and 
propriety,  gentlemen,  upon  my  word  of  honor — some- 
body suddenly  knocks  with  great  violence  at  the  door 
which  leads  into  the  count's  apartment,  and  which 
was  locked  from  inside.  '  Open  the  door !  open  the 
door ! ' 

"  '  Great  God,  the  count ! '  whispered  the  countess,  pale 
with  terror.     *  Nadeska  has  betrayed  us.' 

"  '  Open  the  door  ' — and  here  followed  a  fearfid  oath — 
'open  the  door !  ' 

"  '  Well,'  said  I, '  that's  a  nice  predicament;  what's  to 
be  done  next  .'*  ' 

"'  Schmenckel,  you  must  save  me.' 

"  '  With  pleasure  ;  but  how } ' 

"'I'll  slip  into  my  chamber, and  Iock  the  door  behind 
me.' 

"  '  Very  good  ;  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  ' 

"  '  You  have  broken  into  the  house,  through  that  win- 
dow ' — and  as  she  said  this  she  opened  the  window, 
took  the  candelabra  with  the  lights,  passed  through  the 


I02  TJu-ough  Night  to  Light. 

second  door,  locked  it,  and  beg.an  to  cry  as  loud  as  she 
could — 'Help!     Help!     Thieves!' 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  just  imagine  my  position,  if  you 
can.  Before  I  could  collect  my  five  senses  the  door  was 
broken  open,  and  the  count  rushed  in,  holding  two  pis- 
tols in  his  hands,  and  five  men-servants  with  lights  and 
big  sticks  behind  him." 

"  How  did  the  count  look  }  "  Berger  asked  in  a  low 
voice,  without  raising  his  head. 

"  Well,  old  gentleman,  I  had  not  exactly  time  to  look 
closely  at  him.  I  only  know  that  he  was  a  fine-looking, 
tall  man,  with  a  pair  of  eyes  that  fairly  burnt  with  fury. 
'  Ah,  I  have  caught  you,  rascal .''  '  he  cried.  Crack  ! 
went  a  ball  past  my  left  ear — crack  !  and  another  ball 
went  past  my  right  ear.  Well,  gentlemen,  that  was,  after 
all,  a  little  too  strong,  and  not  exactly  the  way  to  make 
Caspar  Schmenckel's  acquaintance.  What  could  I  do.-* 
I  seized  the  count  around  the  body,  and  threw  him  out  of 
the  window ;  and  in,  case  he  should  have  broken  some- 
thing in  falling,  I  threw  one  of  the  servants  right  after 
him.  The  others  were  frightened  and  ran  away  as  fast 
as  they  could.  I  ran  after  them  tlirough  the  other  rooms 
across  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs,  and,  gentlemen,  when 
I  had  gotten  so  far  I  found  the  way  into  the  street  easily 
enough  by  myself.  How  do  you  like  my  story,  pro- 
fessor.'' "  and  Mr.  Schmenckel  put  his  broad  hand  upon 
Berger's  shoulder. 

Berger  raised  his  head.  His  face  Avas  deadly  pale,  his 
eyes  were  rolling  fearfully,  his  gray  hair  hung  down 
into  his  face. 

"  If  you  can  tell  the  truth,  man,"  he  said,  with  weird- 
sounding  voice,  "  answer  me  ;  have  you  told  the  truth .''  " 

"  I  believe  the  old  gentleman  has  taken  a  little  too 
much,"  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  good-naturedly. 

"  Yes,  I  have  drunk  too  much,"  cried  Berger,  gesticu- 
lating violently  with  his  hands  —  "too  much  of  the 
wretched  beverage  of  this  miserable  life,  which  is  vitterly 
good  for  nothing,  and  the  liquor  has  gotten  into  my  head. 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

It  was  a  terrible  laughter ;  but  the  half-drunk  visitors 
thought  it  highly  amusing. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  103 

"Oh,  ho!  the  professor  is  taking  to  it  very  kindly," 
cried  Mr.  Schmenckel,  holding  his  sides.  "Speech! 
speech  !     Let  the  professor  give  us  a  speech  !  " 

Oswald  had  jumped  up  and  stood  by  Berger's  side. 
He  tried  in  his  anxiety  to  calm  the  over-excited  man, 
and  to  persuade  him  to  leave  the  house. 

Berger  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  stood  there, 
leaning  with  both  his  hands  upon  the  table,  as  Oswald 
had  seen  him  do  so  often  in  his  lecture-room. 

"  Write,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  quintessence 
of  the  long  syllogism,  the  parts  of  which  I  have  just  ex- 
plained to  you  : 

"  I  climbed  on  a  pear-tree, 
I  wanted  to  dig  beets, 
Then  have  I  all  my  life 
Eaten  no  better  plums. 

"You  will  say  that  this  is  not  a  speculative  idea,  but 
an  old  drinking  song  ;  but,  gentlemen,  in  a  world  where 
good  people  are  made  fun  of,  and  led  by  the  nose  by 
impudent  demons — where  folly  with  the  fool's  cap  on 
the  head  is  ruling  supreme,  and  causes  its  lofty  concep- 
tions to  be  executed  by  stupidity,  vulgarity,  and  bru- 
tality— there  speculation  becomes  a  drinking  song,  and 
the  idea — the  grand,  all-sublime  idea — why,  you  are  the 
idea  yourselves,  gentlemen,  rough,  vulgar  fellows  as 
you  are." 

"  Oh,  ho  !  old  man,  I  won't  stand  that,"  cried  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  who  could  hardly  laugh  any  longer. 

"Yes  indeed,  yourself,"  continued  Berger,  growing 
more  and  more  violent.  "  You,  Director  Caspar  Schmenc- 
kel, of  Vienna,  you  represent  the  justice  of  heaven  ! 
The  idea  can  do  nothing  without  you ;  you  are  the  idea, 
the  incarnate  idea.  I  told  you  life  was  good  for  noth- 
ing, but  no — that  is  saying  too  much — it  is  worthy  of 
you.  1  detest  you,  but  I  honor  you ;  I  shudder  at  the 
sight  of  you,  but  I  worship  you.  Come  into  my  arms, 
that  I  may  measure  the  depths  of  this  wretchedness,  that 
I  may  touch  with  my  own  hands  the  incredible." 

"Come  to  my  heart,  old  boy,"  cried  Mr.  Schmenckel, 
returning  the  embrace.  "  You  are  a  trump — a  perfect 
brick;  let  us  be  brothers." 


I04  Through  Night  to  Light. 

He  let  go  Berger  and  seized  his  glass. 

At  the  same  moment  Berger  fell,  pressing  his  hand 
upon  his  heart,  with  a  fearful  cry,  and  fainted  away. 

It  was  a  fearful  cry  indeed — like  the  cry  for  help  of  a 
drowning  man  at  the  instant  of  sinking — a  cry  that  was 
heard  high  above  the  din  in  the  room,  that  silenced  all 
the  chatting  and  chaffing,  and  made  the  drinkers  jump  up 
from  their  seats  in  utter  consternation.  They  crowded 
around  the  fallen  man,  and  glared  with  stupid,  half- 
drunken  eyes  at  him,  as  Oswald  tried  in  vain  to  raise 
him  from  the  floor.  No  one  lent  a  hand  to  assist  the 
young  man.  The  fright  seemed  to  have  paralyzed  the 
crowd. 

"Will  nobody  help  me.'"  cried  Oswald,  supporting 
the  burden  of  the  lifeless  body  in  his  arms. 

These  words  were  addressed  to  Mr.  Schmenckel,  who 
until  now  had  been  quietly  standing  near,  with  open 
mouth  and  fixed  eyes,  his  pipe  in  one  hand,  the  glass 
of  beer  in  the  other. 

Oswald's  appeal  brought  him  back  to  his  senses. 

"  You  are  right,  count,"  he  said,  "  we  must  do  some- 
thing for  the  old  gentleman." 

He  put  his  pipe  on  the  table,  took  Berger,  who  was 
still  unconsciovis,  from  Oswald's  arms,  lifted  him  without 
effort  on  his  shoulder,  and  carried  him  out  of  the  room 
as  a  lion  bears  off  a  dead  gazelle. 

Oswald  and  the  landlord  followed  him. 

"  Here,  come  in  here,"  said  the  landlord,  opening  the 
door  of  the  room  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  Avhere 
more  distinguished  guests  were  commonly  received. 

Mr.  Schmenckel  laid  the  patient  on  the  sofa. 

"  The  old  gentleman  had  an  empty  stomach,"  said  Di- 
rector Schmenckel,  whispering  his  information  gravely 
into  Oswald's  ear,  while  the  latter  was  busy  about  Berger. 
"  Your  excellency  ought  to  have  made  him  eat  first  a 
good  slice  of  ham  with  brown  bread,  and  a  glass  of 
brandy." 

Berger  began  to  stir.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
wonderingly  at  the  by-standers,  like  somebody  who  is 
awaking  from  a  heavy  dream.  Then  he  rose  fully,  with 
Oswald's  assistance,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  : 


Through  Night  to  Light.  105 

"  I  thank  you,  my  friends.  I  liavc  given  you  much 
trouble.  We  are  dependent  one  on  the  other  in  this 
life.  I  hope  I  shall  soon  meet  you  again  ;  perhaps  I 
may  be  able  then  to  return  you  your  kindness.  Come, 
Oswald,  let  us  go." 

"  Do  you  feel  strong  enough.'  Had  we  not  better 
send  for  a  carriage.''  " 

"Oh  no!  Horses  and  carriages  are  not  for  people 
like  me." 

He  went  to  the  door.     Suddenly  he  stopped  again. 

"  Pay  the  people  what  we  owe  them,  Oswald  ;  we  must 
not  remain  in  anybody's  debt  on  this  earth." 

Oswald  paid  the  landlord  his  bill,  including  in  it,  to 
Mr.  Schmenckel's  evident  satisfaction,  all  that  the  rope- 
dancers  had  consumed. 

A  few  moments  afterward  he  and  Berger  had  left  the 
house  and  were  walking  slowly  through  the  silent  streets 
of  Fichtenan,  back  to  Doctor  Birkenhain's  asylum. 

Berger  observed  a  silence  Avhich  Oswald  dared  not 
break.  The  young  man  reproached  himself  in  secret  to 
have  been  so  imprudent  as  to  have  left  Berger  so  long 
in  such  company.  He  ascribed  his  exaltation  mainly  to 
the  heat  and  the  drinking  of  the  strong  beer,  to  which 
he  was  not  accustomed.  He  had  no  suspicion  of  the 
close  connection  between  Berger's  history  and  the  gro- 
tesque adventures  of  the  circus-director,  whose  story  he 
had  scarcely  heard.  He  only  thought  of  Dr.  Birken- 
hain,  and  how  little  he  had  attended  to  his  suggestions. 
He  vras  reflecting  whether  his  presence  was  not  perhaps 
rather  injurious  than  useful  for  Berger,  and  thought  of 
leaving  Fichtenan  as  soon  as  possible,  for  his  own  bene- 
fit as  well  as  for  Berger's. 

Thus  they  had  reached  in  silence  the  road  which  led 
past  the  mill  to  the  gateway  of  Doctor  Birkenhain's 
asylum,  when  Berger  suddenly  said : 

''  You  must  leave  us  to-night,  Oswald!  " 

"  To-night .'  " 

"  Rather  to-day  than  to-morrow.     You  have  to  go  out 

into  the  desert  once  more ;  I  cannot  spare  you  the  trial. 

And  I,  myself — I  have  to  learn  much  yet,  and  you  cannot 

assist  me.     It  is  better  for  us,  therefore,  to  part.     You  go 

5* 


io6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

your  way,  and  I  shall  go  my  way — it  is  the  same  road ; 
and  although  I  am  a  little  ahead  of  you,  you  learn 
quickly  and  will  soon  overtake  me.  Until  then,  Oswald, 
farewell !  " 

Berger  embraced  Oswald  and  kissed  him. 

Oswald  was  deeply  moved. 

"  Let  me  stay  with  you,"  he  said,  his  voice  half- 
drowned  in  tears ;  "  let  me  stay  with  you  and  never 
leave  you  again.  I  hate  the  world,  I  despise  the  world, 
as  much  as  you  do." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Berger,  "  but  to  despise  the  world 
is  but  the  first  stage  of  the  three  on  the  road  to  the 
Great  Mystery." 

"  And  which  is  the  second  stage  .-*  Mention  it,  so  that 
I  may  reach  it  at  once  ! 

"  To  despise  one's  self." 

"And — the  third.?  " 

They  were  standing  before  the  gateway.  Berger  rang 
the  bell ;  the  door  sprang  open. 

"  And  the  third — the  last  stage  }  " 

"  Despise  being  despised." 

"  And  the  mystery  itself — the  Great  Mystery  "i  " 

"  He  who  has  passed  all  three  stages  knows  it  and 
understands  it  without  asking  any  questions.  He  who 
asks  about  it  does  not  know  it,  and  cannot  understand 
it.     Oswald,  farewell ;  we  shall  meet  again  !  " 

Berger  pressed  Oswald  once  more  to  his  heart ;  then 
he  entered  through  the  gate,  which  closed  immediately 
upon  him. 

Oswald  remained  standing  near  the  gate,  like  the 
beggar  who  has  been  refused  the  refreshing  drink  for 
which  he  has  asked  ;  then  he  went,  with  drooping  head, 
back  the  way  he  had  come  with  Berger. 

The  night  was  dark ;  hardly  a  star  on  the  murky, 
cloudy  sky  ;  the  poplars  by  the  wayside  were  whisper- 
ing to  each  other  ;  and  the  mill-race  down  below  said 
in  its  own  way  :  To  despise  the  world — to  despise  one's 
self — to  despise  being  despised. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  107 


CHAPTER    IX. 

DURING  the  time  wlien  Oswald  and  Berger  had 
watched  the  sun  from  the  summit  of  the  Lookout 
Mountain,  as  he  sank  slowly  into  tlie  green  ocean 
of  the  forest,  a  guest  had  arrived  at  the  Kurhaus,  whose 
arrival  caused  a  certain  joyous  sensation  in  the  hotel. 
It  was  a  fair  young  lady,  dressed  in  a  dark,  remarkably 
elegant  costume,  and  accompanied  by  a  not  less  hand- 
some boy  of  about  twelve  years,  who  looked,  however, 
pale  and  sickly.  With  them  came  an  old  man,  whose 
gray  moustache  and  military  carriage  gave  him  a  very 
marked  appearance,  and  who  seemed  to  be  partly  a 
servant  and  partly  a  friend  of  the  lady.  The  lady  had 
spent  several  weeks  in  Fichtenan  during  the  summer, 
though  then  without  the  boy,  in  order  to  attend  her 
husband,  who  had  been  for  seven  years  in  Doctor  Bir- 
kenhain's  asylum,  and  who  was  now  dying.  Her  sad 
fate,  not  less  than  her  great  gentleness  and  kindness 
towards  everybody,  especially  the  poor  and  the  sick,  had 
won  her  the  love  and  admiration  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  little  tOAvn  to  such  a  degree  that  even  now  they 
Avere  blessing,  in  more  than  one  family,  the  remembrance 
of  the  "  good  lady  "  with  deep  gratitude. 

It  did  not  look  as  if  this  time,  also,  a  pleasant  purpose 
had  brought  the  lady  to  Fichtenan,  for  she  had  scarcely 
been  shown  by  the  landlord  himself,  amid  countless  bows 
and  scrapings,  into  the  best  parlor  of  the  second  story, 
when  she  sat  down  to  write  a  few  lines  to  Doctor  Bir- 
kenhain,  which  the  old  servant  had  orders  to  carry  im- 
mediately to  the  asylum,  a  hotel  servant  showing  him 
the  way.  In  the  meantime  the  boy,  who  was  exceed- 
ingly tired  from  the  journey,  had  been  put  to  bed.  Two 
rooms  to  the  left  of  the  parlor  had  been  fitted  up  for  the 
lady's  use,  and  great  regret  was  expressed  that  unfor- 
tunately the  room  on  the  right  could  not  at  once  be 
added,  since  it  was  yet  occupied  by  a  gentleman,  who, 
however,  would  certainly  not  stay  beyond  the  next 
morning. 


io8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

An  hour  later  Doctor  Birkenhain  had  driven  up  before 
the  Kurhaus  with  the  old  servant  by  his  side  ;  he  had 
gone  up  to  the  lady  in  her  parlor,  and  had  been  engaged 
with  her  in  a  long  conversation,  which  could  not  have 
been  very  satisfactory,  for  Jean,  the  waiter  attached  to 
those  rooms,  had  seen,  when  he  carried  the  tea-things 
into  the  parlor,  that  the  lady  had  been  Aveeping,  and  Avas 
trying  to  wipe  her  eyes. 

Doctor  Birkenhain  had,  after  the  conversation  was 
ended,  walked  up  once  more  to  the  bed  of  the  boy,  Avho 
was  fast  asleep,  had  put  his  hand  on  his  heart,  bent  over 
him,  and  pressing  his  ear  on  the  boy's  bare  breast,  listened 
attentively  for  some  time.  Then  he  raised  himself 
again,  carefully  covered  the  sleeper,  pushed  the  abun- 
dant curly  hair  from  the  fair,  pale  brow,  and  turning  to 
the  lady  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  Avhich  positively  lighted 
up  the  stern,  serious  features  of  the  man,  said  to  her, 
while  she  held  a  light  in  her  hand  and  looked  up  to  him 
with  the  strained  expression  of  painful  uncertainty, 

"  Calm  yourself,  madame  ;  I  can,  of  course,  not  decide 
positively,  but  all  that  I  have  seen  so  far  gives  me  great 
hope  that  matters  are  not  half  as  bad  with  our  little  pa- 
tient there  as  my  colleagues  in  Grunwald  seem  to  have 
fancied." 

A  beam  of  joy  lighted  up  the  lady's  face,  and  her  large 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Doctor  Birkenhain  took  the  light  from  her  hand  and 
escorted  her  back  to  the  parlor. 

"  I  shall  come  again  to-morrow  morning,"  he  said, 
taking  his  hat  and  cane  ;  "  if  it  comforts  you,  you  can 
let  old  Baumann  sit  up  with  the  boy.  But  you  yourself 
must  go  to  bed  early,  and  take  one  of  these  powders. 
You  are  very  much  exhausted  and  require  rest." 

"Stay  another  moment,  doctor!  "  said  the  lady.  "I 
have  one  more  question  to  ask." 

Her  features  betrayed  great  emotion,  her  bosom  rose 
and  sank  with  agitation  ;  she  seemed  to  be  about  to  give 
utterance  to  a  thought  which  she  was  unable  from  great 
fear  to  clothe  in  words. 

Doctor  Birkenhain  laid  down  again  his  hat  and  cane. 

*  Sit  down,  madame,  I  pray  you !  "  he  said,  sitting  down 


Through  Night  to  Light.  109 

by  her  side  on  the  sofa.  "  I  know  what  you  arc  about 
to  ask.  I  have  read  the  question  all  this  evening  in  your 
anxious  eyes  and  upon  your  trembling-  lips.  You  do 
not  believe  in  tlic  disease  of  the  heart,  of  which  the  physi- 
cians at  Grunwald  have  said  so  much;  if  you  did  you 
would  not  have  come  to  me,  however  kindly  you  may 
think  of  my  modest  knowledge  and  my  experience. 
You  fear  the  evil  is  more  serious — in  fact,  that  it  is  a 
hereditary  disease,  the  first  germ,  the  beginning,  of  an 
affection  which  has  already  once  been  so  fatal  for  you. 
Am  I  right.''  " 

The  lady's  answer  was  a  flood  of  tears,  which  broke 
irresistibly  from  her  eyes,  like  a  long  pent-up  torrent. 
She  pressed,  sobbing,  her  handkerchief  upon  her  face. 

"  My  dear  madame,"  said  the  physician,  taking  her 
hand  in  his,  "  I  pray  you,  I  implore  you,  calm  yourself. 
As  far  as  I  can  judge  from  the  written  reports  of  mv 
colleagues,  from  your  own  account,  and  from  my  obser- 
vation, there  is  not  the  slightest  ground  for  your  terri- 
ble apprehension.  Insanity  is  hereditary,  to  136  sure;  it 
descends  through  many  generations,  turning  up  here 
and  there,  often  after  a  long  interval ;  but  in  your  hus- 
band's family  his  own  case  is  the  very  first  in  the  whole 
history  of  his  family,  and  consequently  for  many  hun- 
dred years.  And  this  exceptional  case  had  its  own  pe- 
puliar  and  very  sad  causes,  which  could  effect  only  the 
individual,  and  could  not  possibly  have  any  effect  upon 
his  descendants.  Herr  von  Berkow  was  naturally  in 
the  enjoyment  of  very  good  health,  perhaps  even  supe- 
rior in  his  physique  to  most  men  ;  but  remember,  I  pray, 
that  it  is  a  physician  who  is  speaking  now — he  had  ruined 
this  powerful  constitution  by  dissipation.  That  which 
often  saves  others  in  his  position — the  marriage  with  a 
chaste,  pure  being — became  in  his  case  his  ruin,  for  he  felt 
his  own  unworthiness — felt  it  so  deeply  that  he  despaired 
of  ever  winning  your  love  or  attaining  your  forgiveness, 
and  therefore  abandoned  himself  hopelessly  to  that  mel- 
ancholy in  which  he  quickly  lost  all  pleasure  in  life  and 
all  energy  of  mind.  The  sins  of  the  father  will  not  be 
visited  on  the  next  generation.  If  there  should  really 
be  an  affection  of  the  heart,  it  has  as  yet  made  very  little 


no  Through  Night  to  Light. 

progress  and  can  easily  be  cured,  with  the  aid  of  Julius's 
youth  and  excellent  constitution.  Therefore  I  pray  you, 
madame,  lay  aside  all  your  anxiety ;  confide  in  me ; 
confide  in  your  good  fortune  ;  the  clouds  that  are  hiding 
your  star  for  a  moment  will  soon  disappear." 

"  My  star  .-"  "  asked  the  lady,  with  a  melancholy  smile  ; 
"  my  star  .'  Why,  doctor,  I  fear,  if  there  ever  was  such  a 
one,  it  has  set  long  since  and  forever." 

"That  we  shall  see,"  said  Doctor  Birkenhain,  rising. 
"  I  believe  in  favorable  stars,  and  above  all  in  your  good 
star.  One  so  fair  and  so  dear  and  so  good  as  you  are 
must  not  and  shall  not  be  unhappy!     Good  night!  " 

Doctor  Birkenhain  took  the  lady's  hand,  raised  it  rev- 
erently to  his  lips,  and  left  the  room. 

She  remained  sitting  after  the  physician  had  left  her, 
resting  her  head  in  her  hand,  and  sunk  in  deep  medita- 
tion. 

As  in  a  dream,  all  the  scenes  of  her  life  passed  before 
her  mind's  eye. 

She  saw  herself  a  rosy-cheeked,  wild  child,  playing  in 
her  father's  park  with  a  solemn,  awkward  boy,  whom 
she  at  times  loved  dearly  and  then  again  hated  bitterly ; 
who,  now  haughty  and  imperious,  resisted  her  caprices, 
and  then,  when  she  was  kinder  to  him,  spared  no  trouble 
and  feared  no  danger  in  order  to  fulfil  her  childish 
wishes.  She  saw  herself,  a  few  years  later,  in  company 
with  the  same  boy  and  a  few  other  boys  and  girls,  per- 
form very  complicated  steps  in  the  large  room  of  her 
father's  chateau,  while  a  poor  man  accompanied  them 
with  the  violin,  and  the  grown  people,  men  and  women, 
expressed  their  delight  and  overwhelmed  the  little  co- 
quette with  praises  and  caresses ;  and  she  saw  the  boy, 
whose  awkwardness  she  had  ridiculed  and  derided  in 
her  exuberance  of  spirits,  sit  in  a  distant  corner  and  weep 
bitterly.  She  saw  herself  again,  a  few  years  later,  in  the 
fresh  brightness  of  a  beauty  of  sixteen  years,  courted  and 
admired  on  all  sides,  thoughtlessly  sipping  the  sweet, 
precious  beverage  from  the  rose-crowned  cup  of  life 
with  eager  thirst;  flitting  from  pleasure  to  pleasure,  as 
a  light-winged  butterfly  flits  from  flower  to  flower,  and 
yet  feeling,  amid  all  these  blissful  enjoyments,  in  her 


Through  Night  to  Light.  iii 

heart's  deepest  depth,  a  continuous  restlessness,  which 
made  the  golden  Present  appear  gray  and  colorless  in 
comparison  with  the  bright-colored,  glorious  Future, 
which  was  to  fulfil  all  her  plans  and  all  her  hopes. 
She  had  lost  sight  of  the  solemn,  awkward  boy  in  those 
days.  What  could  he  have  done  in  the  midst  of  this 
fairy  world,  full  of  brightness  and  fragrance,  in  which 
nightingales  sang,  and  all  were  playfvd  and  happy  "i 
But  the  Future  had  become  the  Present,  and  nothing  had 
been  fulfilled  of  all  her  promises ;  a  poisonous  dew  had 
fallen  upon  her  bright  Howers,  and  had  robbed  them  of 
their  beauty  and  their  fragrance  ;  the  nightingales  had 
ceased  to  sing,  and  the  whole  spring  landscape  was  con- 
cealed under  a  gray,  dismal  veil — a  veil  through  which 
now  and  then  fearful  scenes  became  visible — a  father 
kneeling  before  his  daughter  and  beseeching  her  by  his 
gray  liead,  which  he  must  bury  in  dislionor  if  she  did  not 
comply  with  his  wishes  to  marry  a  man  whom  she  does  not 
love,  and  against  whom  an  instinctive  feeling  w^arns  the 
pure,  innocent  maid;  a  husband  who — away,  away  with 
these  fearful  visions,  which  make  the  unfortunate  woman 
hide  her  face  with  shuddering,  even  now,  after  an  inter- 
val of  so  many  years.  And  then  she  sees  once  more  the 
form  of  the  solemn,  stubborn  boy  in  the  shape  of  a 
haughty,  cold  man,  who  yet,  whenever  he  meets  her, 
changes  his  haughtiness  into  humility,  and  his  coldness 
into  unspeakable  kindness  and  love  ;  who  assists  her  with 
counsel,  comfort,  and  help ;  who  turns  aside  whatever 
harm  he  can  avert,  and  helps  her  bear  it  where  he  can- 
not prevent  it ;  who  ever  tries  to  take  everything  upon 
his  own  shoulders.  And  now  the  thought  occurs  to  her, 
more  and  more  frequently,  that,  after  all,  this  man  is 
probably  worth  more  than  all  her  fantastic  dreams  ;  but 
as  yet  she  cannot,  by  any  effort  of  her  own,  abandon  all 
the  ideals  that  once  filled  her  youthful  heart.  She  treats 
the  man  as  she  has  treated  the  boy;  she  sends  him  on  his 
travels  as  she  used  to  send  him  in  the  garden,  when  he 
was  not  willing  to  fall  in  with  her  caprices. 

And  now  come  peaceful  visions  of  years  spent  in  the 
green  solitude  of  her  estate,  and  among  them  continu- 
ally re-appearing  the  forms  of  a  fair,  delicate  boy  and 


112  Through  Night  to  Light. 

an  old  gray-bearded  servant  in  varied  and  yet  always 
similar  situations — peaceful  visions,  although  a  certain 
fragrance  of  melancholy  attaches  itself  to  all  their 
bright  perfumes,  the  effect  of  unsatisfied  longing  and 
vain  hopes.  She  thinks  often  enough  of  the  man  whom 
she  has  sent  into  exile,  but  no  longer  with  the  warm 
heart,  which  is  in  truth  ashamed  of  its  ingratitude. 
Some  bitterness  has  begun  to  mingle  with  her  feelings 
towards  this  man,  since  he  has  dared — it  happened  dvir- 
ing  a  journey  to  Italy — to  speak  openly  of  his  love  for 
her;  since  she  has  rejected  him,  fancying  in  her  false 
logic  that  she  was  consistent  when  she  only  adliered 
obstinately  to  a  caprice;  and  since  he,  proud  as  he  was, 
had  at  once  accepted  her  decision,  and  left  the  country 
to  travel  in  Egypt  and  Nubia.  She  imagines  even  that 
she  has  begun  to  hate  the  companion  of  her  youthful 
years,  the  faithful  friend  who  has  stood  by  her  in  every 
need  and  danger;  and  yet,  any  one  who  knows  the 
human  heart  might  have  told  her  that  hatred  is  only 
the  wild  brother  of  the  sweet  sister  love,  and  indiffer- 
ence the  only  really  impenetrable  armor  for  a  woman's 
heart. 

And  now  there  appears  amid  these  peaceful  scenes 
the  form  of  a  man  whose  beauty  delights  her  artistic 
eye,  whose  gentle  kindness  lingers  around  her  like  the 
breath  of  spring,  whose  longing  finds  in  her  own 
heart,  full  of  vague  yearning,  an  eloquent  echo — of 
a  man  who  in  everything  seems  to  be  the  realization  of 
all  her  dreams.  And  as  in  a  dream  she  accepts  his  love, 
returns  it  with  thousand-fold  fire ;  she  will  not  see  the 
danger,  she  will  not  wake,  she  insists  upon  being  happy 
once  in  her  life.  But  morning  breaks;  it  becomes  im- 
possible to  keep  her  eyes  closed  any  longer,  and  to  re- 
tain the  visions  of  her  dream.  Her  friend  has  returned, 
contrary  to  all  expectations,  and  appears  before  her, 
w^arning  her,  and  the  very  next  hour  his  prophecy  has 
become  true.  Blow  upon  blow,  misfortune  falls  upon 
her.  Did  he  dream  of  it,  when  it  drove  him  from  the 
ruins  of  Karnak  to  his  home  in  the  far  North.''  The 
news  of  the  approaching  death  of  the  man  whose  name 
she  bears  summons  her  away  from  the  arms  of  him  whom 


Through  Night  to  Light.  113 

she  loves;  she  hastens  to  fulfil  a  duty  which  is  all  the 
more  sacred  to  her  because  of  the  blissful  happiness  that 
she  has  enjoyed  during  the  last  weeks  ;  and  she  returns, 
her  heart  full  of  sweet  hopes,  and  at  the  same  time  full 
of  painful  anticipations,  and  she  hears  and  sees  that 
the  man  to  whom  she  has  abandoned  herself  with 
boundless  love  has  betrayed  lier.  And,  as  if  that  Avas 
not  enough  pvmishment  for  her  short,  secret  happiness, 
her  only  child — that  beautiful,  lovely  boy,  who  was  her 
delight  and  her  pride — is  taken  down  with  a  disease 
which  appears  to  her  the  beginning  of  an  affection  such 
as  she  has  just  seen  end  in  the  most  fearful  manner  in 
the  father  of  that  child. 

But  this  second  blow  is  perhaps  a  blessing  in  dis- 
guise. It  stuns  her  so  that  she  scarcely  feels  the  wovmd 
in  her  heart.  The  love  of  the  woman  is  swallowed  up 
in  the  love  of  the  mother.  She  watches  day  and  night 
by  the  bedside  of  the  boy  ;  she  has  eyes  and  ears  only 
for  his  wants  and  his  wishes ;  and  as  soon  as  he  recovers 
slightly,  she  takes  a  journey  to  the  man  in  whose  expe- 
rience she  has  unbounded  confidence,  and  from  whose 
lips  she  means  to  hear  the  sentence,  the  decision  of  life 
or  death — no  !  a  thousand  times  worse  than  death  itself! 
And  he  has  spoken ;  he  has  left  her  some  hope  ;  he  has 
even  encouraged  her  to  hope — her  boy  is  going  to  live ; 
he  will  recover;  the  sins  of  the  father  are  not  to  be  vis- 
ited on  the'  next  generation. 

And  now  that  her  soul  has  been  relieved  of  the  fear- 
ful burden — now  she  thinks  for  the  first  time  again  of 
her  betrayed  love. 

Was  not  this  betrayal  a  just  punishment  for  having 
cared  so  much  for  her  own  happiness,  and  so  little  for 
that  of  the  boy.''  For  having  committed  treason  against 
her  own  child  ;  for  was  not  the  love  for  a  man  wlio  filled 
her  whole  heart  treason  against  her  child  1 

Here,  in  this  very  room,  she  had  during  the  past  sum- 
mer dreamt  so  often  of  a  future  which  was  to  be  real- 
ized in  such  a  sad  present,  and  now  the  current  of  life 
had  floated  her  back  to  the  same  place,  almost  into  the 
same  situation  !  Was  it  not  as  if  Fate  wished  to  give 
her  time  to  consider  before  she  acted — before  she  laid  her 


114  Through  Night  to  Light. 

own  happiness,  and  that  of  her  child,  into  hands  "which 
were  far  too  feeble  to  defend  such  a  treasure  successfully  ? 

Here,  in  this  very  room,  her  friend  had  warned  her 
against  these  hands  that  were  grasping  with  childish 
eagerness  at  everything  that  was  great  and  beautiful,  in 
order  to  cast  it  aside  again  in  childish  caprice,  as  if  it 
were  worth  little.  Here,  in  tl>is  very  room,  he  had 
prophesied  to  her  things  which  had  since  come  true, 
Avord  by  word. 

Here,  in  this  very  room,  he  had  spoken  to  her  thus : 
"  And  when  you  lie  crushed  by  this  blow,  and  wish  to 
die,  and  yet  cannot  die ;  then  you  will  be  able  to  feel 
what  anguish  a  heart  suffers  when  it  sees  its  love  be- 
trayed and  despised;  then  you  will  make  me  amends  in 
your  heart,  and  be  sorry  for  the  wrong  you  have  done 
me." 

Where  was  he  now .''  this  faithful,  noble  friend,  Avho 
— she  had  often  felt  it,  though  never  so  deeply  as  at  this 
moment — was  wasting  his  proud  strength  for  her  sake 
in  idleness  or  senseless  adventures,  as  a  tree  whose  heart 
has  been  taken  out  breaks  forth  in  abundant  branches 
and  leaves,  but  never  bears  fruit  again .-'  Once  more 
he  was  wandering  restlessly,  like  the  wandering  Jew, 
through  the  wide,  desert  world.  And,  as  if  he  should 
never  call  anything  his  own,  the  child  whom  he  had 
loved  before  he  knew  her  to  be  his  child,  had  vanished 
again  like  a  short,  fair  dream.  He  had  let  her  go,  be- 
cause his  sense  of  justice  told  him  that  he  had  no  claim 
upon  this  child,  for  whom  he  had  done  nothing  than  to 
call  it  into  existence.  Was  it  really  to  be  his  fate  to 
sow  love  and  to  reap  indifference .-' 

No  !  no !  not  indifference ;  although  it  might  not  be 
love  such  as  he  felt,  and  such  as  he  wished  for,  but 
certainly  not  indifference!  Did  she  not  feel  hearty 
friendship,  deep,  sincere  regard  for  him }  Would  she 
not  have  sacrificed  Avhole  years  of  her  existence,  if  by 
so  doing  she  could  have  restored  his  child  to  him .'' 

Where  was  he  now  .''  She  had  become  so  accustomed 
to  seeing  him  by  her  side,  whenever  the  dark  hours  of 
her  life  were  coming,  that  she  missed  him  sadly  now, 
when  he  was  for  the  first  time  absent.     And  yet,  what 


Through  Night  to  Light.  115 

right  had  she  to  a  love  which  she  had  refused  a  hundred 
times,  and  whicli  she  liad  so  grievously  insulted  by  her 
love  for  another  man  ? 

The  fair  lady  had  been  so  lost  in  such  thoughts  that 
she  did  not  hear  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door.  The  door 
opened,  and  an  old,  gray-bearded  face  peeped  in.  Be- 
hind the  grim,  bearded  face  the  form  of  a  tall  man  was 
visible. 

"  Madame,'"  said  the  moustache,  "  a  good  friend  who 
has  just  arrived  wishes  to  present  his  respects,  if  possi- 
ble yet,  this  evening." 

"Who  is  it.''"  asked  the  lady,  rising  with  surprise 
from  her  seat. 

The  tall  gentleman  entered. 

"Oldenburg!"  cried  the  lady;  "Oldenburg!  Is  it 
really  you .?  " 

"Yes,  Melitta!  "  said  the  baron,  seizing  the  proffered 
hand  of  the  lady  and  carrying  it  to  his  lips.  "  It  is  I,  in 
person." 

The  old  man  had  remained  where  he  stood,  rubbing 
his  hands  and  looking  at  the  two,  as  they  were  shaking 
hands,  with  an  eye  full  of  hope  and  apprehension. 
When  he  saw  the  unmistakaVjle  expression  of  joyful  sur- 
prise upon  the  fair  face  of  his  beloved  mistress,  and  the 
tear  which  glistened  in  her  eye  as  the  baron  bent  over 
her  hand,  his  own  eyes  slowly  filled  with  tears.  He  left 
the  room  with  noiseless  steps,  closed  the  door  very 
gently,  and  one  who  could  have  observed  the  old  man 
afterwards  —  but  there  was  no  one  there  to  see  him — 
would  have  seen  how  he  folded  his  hands,  when  he  was 
outside,  and  murmured  an  ardent  prayer  with  trembling 
lips,  in  his  gray  beard — a  prayer  which  thanked  God 
for  this  meeting  between  his  mistress  and  the  only  man 
whom  he  thought  worthy  of  her,  and  implored  Him  to 
turn  everything,  oh  everything,  to  the  best,  in  this  the 

eleventh  hour,  by  His  infinite  mercy  and  kindness. 
******        ^*         *         *         * 

When  old  Baumann  had  left  the  room,  the  baron  had, 
according  to  his  old  habit,  walked  silently  up  and  down 
the  room  with  long  strides,  to  overcome  a  feeling  which 
threatened  to  get  the  better  of  his  self-control.     Melitta 


ii6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

had  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  since  her  own  excitement, 
which  was  probably  not  less  strong  than  Oldenburg's, 
had  deprived  her  of  the  power  of  standing. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  baron  came  and  took  his  seat 
by  her  side  on  the  sofa,  and  said  with  a  soft  voice,  Avhich 
did  not  show  the  slightest  trace  of  the  vehemence  of  his 
rough  manner, 

"  And  you  do  not  ask,  Melitta,  av hat  has  brought  me 
here  through  night  and  storm,  across  these  mountains,  to 
this  village  and  this  room  ?  " 

"  No !  "  replied  Melitta,  looking  full  and  clear  into 
his  eyes;  "  no  !  for  I  know  it  without  asking." 

"  I  thank  you,  Melitta!  " 

This  was  all  he  answered ;  but  the  whole  heart  of  the 
man  was  in  these  few  words. 

"  Yes,  and  even  more  than  that,"  continvied  Melitta. 
"  I  was  but  just  thinking  of  you — of  the  faithful  friend 
who  has  as  yet  always  stood  by  me  in  the  hour  of  mis- 
fortune, aiding  me  by  counsel  and  deed,  however  I  may 
have  rejected  his  advice  and  rewarded  the  sacrifices  he 
has  made  for  my  sake  with  bitter  ingratitude. 

"  Sacrifices  —  ingratitude  !  "  said  Oldenburg,  and  a 
melancholy  smile  played  around  his  lips ;  "  those  are 
words,  Melitta,  which  have  no  meaning  for  us — I  mean 
for  myself  At  least  they  have  none  now,  Avhatever  else 
I  may  have  thought  of  them  in  former  years.  In  the 
end  everybody  submits  to  his  fate  ;  and  when  the  cap- 
tured lion  has  come  to  an  end  with  his  despair,  and  sees 
that  his  strength  can  do  nothing  against  the  iron  bars 
of  his  cage,  he  lies  down  in  the  corner  and  is  for  the 
future  as  gentle  as  a  lamb.  But  no  more  of  that ;  I  did 
not  come  here  to  plead  for  myself,  and  to  renew^  a  suit 
which  has  already  been  lost  in  all  the  stages  of  appeal ; 
I  did  not  come  for  my  sake,  but  for  yours.  I  was  told 
in  Grunwald,  where  I  was  on  business,  that  Julius  had 
been  attacked  by  serious  sickness,  and  that  you  had  gone 
with  him  to  Fichtenan.  I  feared  the  Avorst,  and  followed 
you  at  once,  travelling  day  and  night,  in  order  to  help 
you  as  far  as  I  could.  Fortunately  our  apprehensions 
were  unfounded.  I  have  spoken  with  Birkenhain  down- 
stairs, after  he  left  you.     He  has  completely  reassured 


Through  Night  to  Light.  117 

me,  and  thinks  you  can  go  back  as  soon  as  you  feel 
strong  enough.  That  is  all  I  wished  to  know;  and  now, 
when  the  purpose  of  my  journey  is  fulfilled,  and  I  have 
been  able  by  a  lucky  accident,  thanks  to  the  gods,  to  see 
you  and  to  hold  your  dear  hand  in  mine — God  bless 
you,  jNIelitta!  and  may  misfortune — for  good  fortune 
has  nothing  to  do  with  us  —  not  make  us  meet  soon 
again." 

The  baron  said  these  last  words  with  a  smiling  air, 
but  in  his  voice  there  was  a  secret  pain,  the  pain  of  a 
noble  heart  full  of  love,  which  finds  no  home  in  all  this 
wide,  rich  world. 

He  had  taken  Melitta's  hand  in  bidding  her  farewell, 
and  was  about  to  rise ;  but  he  could  not  do  it,  for  the 
hand  so  dear  to  him  not  only  returned  warmly  the  pres- 
sure of  his — he  felt,  at  least  he  thought  he  felt,  that  Me- 
litta  would  not  let  him  leave  her,  that  she  would  be 
pleased  to  see  him  stay. 

This  was  something  so  new  to  him  that  he  looked  at 
her,  wondering  whether  it  were  really  possible — whether 
his  presence  was  for  once  no  punishment  to  her. 

"  You  must  not  go  yet,"  said  Melitta,  with  some  pre- 
cipitancy, while  a  passing  flush  colored  her  pale  cheeks 
for  a  moment.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  see  that,  while  all  the 
world  praises  my  kindness  and  every  beggar  leaves  me 
contented,  you  alone  should  look  upon  me  as  upon  a 
statue,  which  never  gives  and  ahvays  takes  without  ever 
saying  Thank  you !  You  have  not  told  me  a  word  yet 
about  yourself;  not  a  word  how  and  where  you  have 
been  all  this  time.  You  come  from  a  distance  of  sev- 
eral thousand  miles  to  look  at  my  Julius,  and  you  mean 
to  go  again  before  I  have  even  been  able  to  ask  you  if 
you  have  had  any  news  of  your  Czika.'  Is  that  gener- 
ous.''    Why,  it  is  not  even  right  in  you." 

The  baron  looked  at  Melitta  as  she  said  this,  almost 
frightened. 

"  Melitta,"  he  answered,  so  seriously  as  to  be  almost 
solemn;  "it  is  not  right  to  awaken  the  desire  to  live,  in 
a  man  who  is  sick  unto  death.  Do  not  spoil  me,  from 
pure  pity,  Avith  a  kindness  which  does  not  come  from 
the  heart !  " 


ii8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Not  from  the  heart ! "  repeated  Melitta  in  a  low 
voice.  "To  be  sure  I  have  deserved  that  reproach;  I 
ought  not  to  complain." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  reproach  you,  Melitta." 

"  And  yet  I  deserve  it.  Yes,  Oldenburg,  I  must  tell 
you,  or  it  will  oppress  my  heart  beyond  endurance.  I 
feel  deeply  ashamed  before  you.  The  burden  of  grati- 
tude which  you  impose  upon  me  weighs  me  down." 

"  A  burden,  Melitta  !  A  burden !  By  God,  I  did  not 
wish  to  lay  any  burden  upon  you  by  the  few  services  I 
have  been  able  to  render  you." 

"  You  will  not  believe  me.  I  cannot  measure  and 
weigh  my  words  as  you  do.  If  there  is  no  voice  in  your 
heart  speaking  for  me — if  you  are  not  willing  to  listen  to 
me  with  your  heart,  then " 

Her  voice  was  drowned  in  tears. 

"  What  is  this?  "  said  Oldenburg,  seizing  his  head  with 
both  his  hands.  "  Am  I  dreaming  .''  Is  this  my  head .-' 
Are  these  my  hands.?  Am  I  Oldenburg.?  Are  you 
Melitta.?  You,  who  are  shedding  tears,  because  I,  Ol- 
denburg, do  not  understand  you,  or  will  not  understand 
you.?  " 

"You  shall  understand  me,"  said  Melitta,  drying  her 
tears,  with  an  impetuosity  very  unusual  in  her.  "  You 
have  seen  me  so  often  weak  and  irresolute  in  our  inter- 
course, that  you  do  not  think  me  any  longer  capable  of 
forming  a  resolution.  And  yet  I  have  the  strength  to  do 
so  ;  and  that  I  have  it,  I  owe  to  you,  Adalbert.  During  the 
sickness  of  my  child  you  have  spoken  to  me,  and  I  have 
not  closed  my  heart  to  your  voice.  I  have  heard  it  very 
distinctly  during  the  long,  anxious  night  hours  which 
I  spent  watching  and  weeping  by  the  bedside  of  my 
child.  Then  I  have  asked  my  child's  pardon  with  silent, 
burning  tears,  that  I  could  ever  forget  being  a  mother. 
Then  I  have  vowed  by  myself  that  I  would  never,  never 
forget  it  again.     Then  I  have " 

She  was  silent ;  burning  sliame  flooded  her  cheeks 
with  deep  glowing  blushes ;  but  she  made  a  great  effort 
and  said, 

"Then  I  have  abjured  a  passion  which  humiliates  me  in 
my  own  eyes,  in  my  child's  eyes,  and,  Adalbert,  in  3"Ours." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  119 

"  Stop,  Melitta  !  stop  !  "  cried  Oldenburg,  rising  sud- 
denly. "  You  are  beside  yourself!  You  are  not  alone  ! 
You  are  in  the  presence  of  another  person — of  a  man 
who  loves  you,  Melitta.  He  does  not  want  to  hear  what 
you  ought  to  say  to  no  one  but  to  yourself." 

"  Let  me  finish,  Adalbert !  I  trust  in  your  goodness, 
as  I  trust  in  your  strength.  I  have  not  told  you  all  yet ; 
not  even  all  the  vows  I  have  made  by  the  bedside  of  my 
sick  child.  I  have  often^  thought  of  your  child,  then, 
and  that  a  most  terrible  fate  has  robbed  you  of  the  love 
of  your  child  as  well  as  of  the  love  of  her  whom  you 
love.  And  then  I  vowed  that,  if  I  cannot  make  you  as 
happy  as  you  deserve  to  be ;  if  much,  far  too  much,  has 
happened  which  parts  you  and  me  forever;  I  can  yet 
help  you  bear  your  fate,  as  far  as  in  me  lies.  I  will  try 
to  reconcile  you  to  life,  and  live  for  you  as  far  as  I  am 
able." 

Melitta  had,  while  she  said  these  words,  risen  from  the 
sofa.  She  stood  before  him  with  deep-red  cheeks  and 
beaming  eyes. 

Oldenburg  had  heard  her  with  breathless  excitement, 
with  an  emotion  which  grew  stronger  and  deeper  with 
every  word.  His  eyes  flashed,  liis  bosom  heaved,  he 
pressed  his  hands  upon  his  heart,  which  felt  as  if  it  would 
burst  with  unspeakable  bliss. 

When  jNIelitta's  last  word  had  dropped  from  her  lips 
he  approached  her,  knelt  down  before  her,  and  said,  with 
a  voice  deep  and  firm,  like  the  sound  of  an  iron  shield, 

"  And  now  hear  my  vow,  Melitta  !  As  surely  as  I 
have  loved  you  ever  since  I  can  think,  as  surely  as  the 
night  of  my  life  has  been  lighted  up  but  by  a  single  star, 
as  surely  as  I  have  wandered  about  restlessly  and  aim- 
lessly in  the  vast  desert  of  life,  only  because  I  despaired 
that  that  star  could  ever  shine  down  upon  me  benignly 
— so  surely  will  I,  from  this  moment,  strive  to  attain  the 
highest  aim  of  man  with  all  the  power  I  may  possess. 
I  will  lay  aside  all  little  weaknesses  and  all  my  cowardice ; 
I  will  try  to  make  up  for  the  time  which  I  have  lost  in 
inactivity.  And  as  sure  as  my  heart  is  at  this  moment 
overflowing  with  a  happiness  which  words  cannot  de- 
scribe, so  surely  will  I  seek  neither  rest  nor  repose  till 


I20  Through  Night  to  Light. 

you  love  me  as  I  love  you — till  you  are  mine.  Do  you 
hear,  Melitta — till  you  are  my  wife !  " 

He  had  risen,  too. 

"And  now,  Melitta,"  he  cried,  and  his  words  sounded 
like  shouts  of  joy,  "  farewell !  I  cannot  bear  it  any 
longer  under  this  roof;  the  whole,  wide  world  has  be- 
come too  narrow  for  me.  Farewell !  farewell !  till  we 
meet  again !  " 

He  embraced  Melitta  impetuously,  and  kissed  her  on 
her  brow.     Then  he  hastily  left  the  room. 

Melitta  had  remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  as  if  she  were  petrified.  She  had  not  had  the 
strength  to  keep  Oldenburg  back,  nor  to  return  his  fare- 
well.    She  placed  her  hand  upon  her  beating  temples. 

"  What  have  I  done .-'  What  have  I  said .''  "  she  asked 
herself.  And  the  voice  of  her  heart  answered  :  "  Noth- 
ing you  need  be  ashamed  of,  before  yourself  or  before 
your  child." 

She  hastened  into  the  adjoining  room.  She  bent  over 
the  sleeping  boy;  she  kissed  him  amid  burning  tears. 

Then  she  heard  the  rolling  of  a  carriage,  which  rapidly 
drove  away  from  the  door  of  the  hotel. 

"That  is  he!  "  she  said,  listening;  and  then,  pressing 
her  face  in  the  cushions,  "  Farewell !  farewell !  till  we 
meet  again  !  " 


CHAPTER   X. 

WHILE  this  interview  between  Melitta  and  Olden- 
burg Avas  taking  place  at  the  Kurhaus,  and,  as  by 
the  blow  of  a  charmed  Avand,  the  barriers  fell 
which  had  seemed  to  be  destined  to  part  two  good  hearts 
forever,  there  had  been  sitting  in  the  room  on  the  right 
hand — which  "  was  occupied  by  a  traveller  Avho  Avould 
surely  not  stay  beyond  the  next  morning  " — this  very 
traveller  quite  near  the  door  which  led  from  one  room 
to  the  other,  supporting  his  feverish  head  with  his  hands, 
and  suffering  in  his  lacerated  heart  unspeakable  anguisli. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  121 

Oswald  had  returned,  on  his  way  from  the  asylum, 
along  the  river,  almost  as  in  a  dream ;  for  when  he  left 
Berger  at  the  gate  of  the  institution,  the  parting  with 
him  and  the  last  terrible  words  of  the  unfortunate  man 
had  quite  overwhelmed  him,  and  kept  him  from  every 
effort  of  thinking  calmly. 

His  brains  and  his  heart  were  a  perfect  chaos,  filled 
with  all  that  he  had  heard  and  seen  since  his  arrival  in 
Fichtenan  on  the  preceding  evening — with  all  the  im- 
pressions which  he  had  so  suddenly  received,  all  the 
thoughts  that  had  been  stirred  up,  all  the  passions  that 
had  been  unchained.  He  had  a  dim  presentiment  that 
such  a  state  of  mind  must  in  the  end  lead  to  insanity,  if 
it  were  not  already  itself  a  kind  of  insanity. 

Ought  he  not  to  turn  back  and  knock  at  the  gate  be- 
hind which  Berger  had  disappeared .''  Was  not  that 
house,  with  its  high  prison-walls,  the  best  refuge  for 
hearts  that  were  as  Aveary  of  the  world  as  his  was  1  Or 
still  better,  ought  he  not  to  throw  himself  over  the  rail- 
ing into  the  river  below,  Avhere  it  rushed,  deep  and 
silent,  between  the  steep,  high  banks,  gliding  noiselessly 
along  like  a  serpent.''  Would  he  not  be  sure  thus  to 
cool  his  heated  brow  forever,  and  to  silence  the  ham- 
mering pulsations  jn  hjs  temples  for  all  eternity.''  How 
could  he  hope  ever  to  find  an  issue  into  rosy  light  from 
a  labyrinth  in  which  so  noble,  so  lofty  a  mind  as  Ber- 
ger's  had  lost  its  way  irretrievably .''  Was  not  Berger 
far  superior  to  him  in  strength  of  mind,  as  well  as  in 
nobility  of  soul?  And  yet,  and  yet — "that  I  may  fully 
measure  the  depth  of  this  wretchedness,  that  I  may  touch 
with  my  own  hands  the  incredible,"  the  poor  man  had 
said,  when  he  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  rope-dancer. 
Was  that,  then,  the  last  conclusion  of  wisdom  1  The 
high-minded  idealist  saw  himself  excelled  by  the  rude 
slave  of  sensuality  in  courage  of  life  and  joyousness  of 
life!  The  pupil  of  Plato  acknowledged  a  drunken 
clown  as  his  master  !  The  man  who,  like  the  youth  of 
Sais,  had  striven  all  his  life  only  after  truth,  fraternized 
with  a  coarse  story-teller,  a  charlatan,  who  defied  all 
rules,  of  probability  even,  and  lived  merrily  and  cheer- 
fully on  the  credulity  of  others,  as  the  swallow  lives  on 
6 


122  Through  Night  to  Light. 

midges.  As  old  Lear  in  the  tempestuous  night  on  the 
heath  tears  the  royal  mantle  from  his  shoulders,  so  as  to 
have  no  advantage  over  poor  Tom,  the  "  poor  bare-backed 
animal,  whose  belly  cries  for  two  red  herrings,"  so  Ber- 
ger  also  had  laid  aside  the  philosopher's  cloak,  that  did 
not  warm  him  half  as  well  as  the  rope-dancer's  bare 
vulgarity.  Berger  had  learnt  from  this  man  that  only 
he  can  hope  to  enjoy  real  happiness  who  gives  up  all 
pretentions  to  wealth,  to  honor,  and  splendor,  and  who 
sees  neither  a  punishment  nor  a  disgrace  in  the  con- 
tempt of  the  world.  Did  those  men  of  olden  times 
think  differently  about  it  who  fed  on  locusts,  and  ex- 
posed their  bodies  to  the  heat  of  the  sun  and  the 
chill  of  rains — Indian  penitents.  Christian  anchorites, 
Hagellants,  pillar-saints,  and  ascetics  of  every  kind  1  Is 
asceticism  not  the  consistent  pursuit  of  holiness  1  Is  not 
contempt  of  the  world,  and  of  one's  self,  the  consistent 
effect  of  asceticism.''  Can  we  reach  the  Holiest  of 
Holies — the  blissful  original  state,  the  sweet  Nirwana — 
unless  we  first  annihilate  ourselves,  as  far  as  it  can  be 
done  in  life?  And  is  such  annihilation  possible  as  long 
as  we  continually  cling  to  life  and  to  all  that  makes  life 
dear  to  us.'  Js  it  an  accident  that  saints  appear  odd  in 
the  eyes  of  the  multitude,  and  the  company  of  publi- 
cans and  sinners  is  the  best  in  the  eyes  of  holy  men  .-* 
Yes,  indeed !  Berger  and  Schmenckel,  arm  in  arm  ! 
Was  that  the  solution  of  the  great  mystery,  the  squar- 
ing of  the  circle  1 

Oswald  could  not  get  rid  of  the  picture,  and  the  ter- 
rible impression  it  had  made  upon  him  at  last  brought 
him  back  to  calmer  views.  His  sense  of  the  beautiful 
was  shocked  by  the  abhorrent  garb  which  that  ascetic 
wisdom  had  adopted.  He  agreed  with  all  his  heart  to 
join  the  order  of  the  threefold  contempt,  but  he  could 
not  be  reconciled  to  the  costvuiie  of  the  order.  He 
thought  of  himself  in  the  dress  in  which  he  had  seen 
Berger — a  blue,  faded  blouse,  a  coarse  slouched  hat,  a 
stick  cut  from  a  thorn-bush — and  he  shuddered  all  over. 
He  thouglit  of  Doctor  Braun,  and  what  he  would  have 
said  if  he  liad  met  him  in  company  with  Berger — he  who 
was  painfully  fastidious  about  his  appearance,  and  con- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  123 

sidered  it  a  fundamental  principle,  that  if  Ave  wished  to 
remain  physically  and  psychically  healthy,  we  must  be 
careful  not  to  come  in  contact  with  bodily  or  mental 
uncleanliness.  Despise  the  world! — why  not?  Despise 
one's  self!  I  have  done  that  often  enough;  and,  alas, 
generally  for  very  good  reasons.  But  despise  being 
despised!  Never!  —  rather  die!  —  rather,  a  thousand 
times. 

And  Avhy  die .''  Why  not  ratlier  live .''  Is  life  so  very 
contemptible.'*  Have  I  not  found  in  Braun  a  friend  of 
whom  I  have  every  reason  to  be  proud  .-'  Might  I  not 
succeed  in  finding  my  way  out  of  this  labyrinth,  if  I  had 
such  a  friend  by  my  side  .-*  May  not  much  come  right 
again,  even  if  everything  does  not  turn  out  well  .'*  Sup- 
pose I  were  to  make  up  my  mind  to  abandon  this  striv- 
ing after  exalted  ideals  which  threaten  to  ruin  my 
mind .''  If  I  were  to  turn  back,  even  at  this  the  eleventh 
hour,  from  the  way  which  leads  in  the  end  to  Doctor 
Birkenhain's  insane  asylum  .?  If  I  were  this  very  night 
to  leave  Fichtenan,  where  the  air  is  filled  with  ill  luck 
for  me,  as  Doctor  Braun  anticipated.'' 

Oswald  was  standing  before  the  Kurhaus.  A  carriage 
which  had  just  arrived  was  waiting  at  the  "door.  In  the 
dining-room,  at  the  end  of  the  long  table,  two  gentle- 
men were  sitting  in  close  conversation.  He  thought 
one  of  them  was  Doctor  Birkenhain.  He  did  not  desire 
in  the  least  to  meet  the  physician,  whose  wishes  with 
regard  to  Berger  he  had  so  lamentably  failed  to  fulful. 
He  woidd  drop  him  a  few  lines  before  leaving,  and 
excuse  himself  on  the  score  of  pressing  business  and 
Berger's  express  desire,  for  his  failure  to  say  good-by 
in  person. 

He  went  to  his  room  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Is  there  any  mail  leaving  to-night  ?  " 

"  In  half-an-hour,  sir." 

"  I  shall  leave  by  the  mail,  then.  Secure  me  a  seat  in 
the  coach,  and  bring  the  bill,"  said  Oswald,  already  busy 
packing  his  things. 

"Yes,  sir,  directly." 

"Yes!  yes!  I  must  leave  here,"  murmured  Osvv'ald, 
passionately,  strengthening  himself  more  and  more  in 


124  Through  Night  to  Light, 

his  resolution.  "Away  from  here  before  more  ill  luck 
befalls  me !  " 

"The  bill,  sir!  "  said  the  waiter,  coming  back  again. 
"  Much  obliged  to  you,  sir.  Need  not  be  in  such  a 
hurry,  sir;  you  have  twenty-five  minutes  left ;  the  office 
is  close  by  here.  Thought  you  would  stay  over  night, 
sir.  Might  have  given  this  room  to  a  lady,  sir,  if  we 
had  known,  who  has  just  arrived  ;  she  has  taken  the 
parlor  next  door,  and  two  rooms  on  the  other  side.  We 
had  to  give  her  those  rooms,  although  they  are  not  good 
enough  for  such  a  grand  and  beautiful  lady." 

The  waiter  uttered  these  words  in  a  whisper,  which 
made  it  clear  that  the  doors  of  the  Kurhaus  were  not 
exactly  impenetrable  to  sound. 

"Who  is  the  lady.''"  asked  Oswald,  locking  his 
trunk. 

"  A  Frau  von  Berkow ;  old  customer  of  ours.  Told 
you  this  morning  about  her,  sir.  Will  send  the  porter 
directly  to  carry  your  trunk  to  the  office.  Anything 
else,  sir.''" 

The  waiter  left  the  room,  waving  his  napkin  in  a  most 
graceful  manner.  Oswald  rose.  His  face  was  deadly 
pale.  He  had  to  support  himself  on  the  table  ;  his  limbs 
trembled. 

Had  he  heard  right?  Melitta  here .''  In  this  house.'' 
Next  door.''  How  did  she  get  here.''  What  did  she 
come  for.?  To  this  place,  which  had  such  mournful  as- 
sociations for  her .?  Was  it  an  accident .''  Was  it  pur- 
pose ?  Could  she  have  come  for  his  sake  .-'  Could 
she  have  found  out  the  purpose  of  his  journey .''  Was 
she  looking  for  him  ?  Had  she  failed  to  receive  the 
letter  which  he  wrote  to  her  after  Bruno's  death,  and  an 
hour  before  his  duel  with  Felix — that  letter  in  which  he 
told  her  with  unfeeling  cruelty,  though  he  thought  it 
heroism  then,  that  "  his  heart  was  no  longer  exclusively 
Jiers,  that  he  did  not  intend  to  deceive  her  and  himself, 
and  that  he  was  bidding  her — and  perhaps  life  itself — 
an  eternal  adieu  t  "  Or  had  she  received  it,  and  I'ead  it 
with  the  incredulity  of  a  loving  heart,  which  does  not 
comprehend  faitlilessness,  because  it  knows  itself  no 
other  love  but  true  love  ?     Had  she  come  to  tell  him 


Through  JVight  to  Light.  125 

that  she  had  forgiven  him  ? — tliat  she  was  still  his  Me- 
litta  ?  If  he  were  to  hasten  to  her  and  to  fall  at  her  feet, 
would  she  raise  the  repentant  lover  and  tell  him  that 
all  was  forgiven  and  forgotten?  —  that  she  had  never 
ceased  to  love  him  ? 

He  listened  to  hear  if  anything  was  stirring  in  the 
adjoining  room.  He  heard  nothing — nothing  but  the 
beating  of  his  violently-agitated  heart. 

She  was  alone.  She  waited  for  his  coming.  Were 
the  blissful  days  of  Berkow  really  to  return  once  more  ? 
Was  really  everything  to  end  well,  after  all } 

He  listened.     A  door  opened. 

Probably  a  waiter,  who  has  executed  an  order. 

A  deep  male  voice.  The  soft  notes  of  a  woman's 
voice. 

The  soft  voice  was  Melitta's  !     But  the  other.' 

He  listened.     The  voices  rose,  became  more  distinct. 

A  convulsive  spasm  flew  across  the  features  of  the 
listener ;  a  hoarse,  unpleasant  laugh  broke  from  his 
lips.  The  man  who  was  speaking  so  warmly  to  Me- 
litta  was  Baron  Oldenburg. 

The  sofa  on  which  the  two  speakers  were  sitting, 
stood  close  against  the  door  which  led  from  one  room 
to  the  other.  Oswald  could  not  hear  everything  they 
said,  but  why  was  that  necessary .''  The  meeting  of  the 
two  in  this  remote  little  town,  which  had  already  once 
before  been  the  scene  of  their  stealthy  rendezvous,  spoke 
eloquently  enough.  He  had  been  right,  after  all !  The 
two  had  after  all  but  made  a  fool  of  him  !  He  had  done 
Melitta  no  wrong  which  she  had  not  inflicted  on  him 
also.     They  were  quits. 

A  knock  at  the  door. 

The  porter  came  to  carry  the  gentleman's  trunk  to  the 
office. 

"  It  is  high  time,  sir.  The  postilion  has  blown  his 
horn  twice." 

Oswald  followed  the  man  mechanically  down  the  long 
passages,  out  of  the  house,  across  the  dark  street  to  the 
coach. 

A  minute  later  and  the  lieavy  coach  was  rumbling 
over  the    pavement.      The   postilion   played   a   merry 


126  Through  Night  to  Light. 

melody  in  the  silent  night-air,  and  Oswald  furnished  a 
test  to  the  air :  to  despise  one's  self,  despise  the  world, 
despise  being  despised. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

IT  was  an  early  hour  of  a  murky  day  in  autumn. 
Fogs  were  brewing  in  the  mountains  around  Fich- 
tenan,  and  hung  so  low  that  the  traveller  on  the 
high  road,  which  makes  a  steep  ascent  close  behind  the 
village  and  loses  itself  in  thick  woods,  could  scarcely 
distinguish  the  pine-trees  on  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

By  the  wayside,  at  a  place  where  two  roads  crossed 
each  other,  sat  Xenobia  and  Czika.  Their  faithful  com- 
panion on  all  their  wanderings,  the  little  donkey,  with 
the  red  feathers  on  his  head  and  the  scarlet  saddle-cloth 
on  his  back,  was  grazing  peacefully  in  the  ditch  on  tlie 
short,  ill-flavored  grass.  He  did  not  seem  to  relish  it 
much ;  he  shook  his  head  indignantly,  as  if  he  wanted 
to  say:  I  am  frugal,  but  everything  has  its  limits. 

Nor  did  the  gypsy  woman  and  her  child  seem  to  enjoy 
the  weather  any  more.  They  sat  there,  each  wrapped  in 
a  large  coarse  shawl,  silent  and  motionless,  like  a  couple 
of  Egyptian  statues.  This  attitude,  natui-al  as  it  might 
be  to  the  woman,  had  something  ver}^  uncanny  in  so 
young  a  child  as  Czika. 

And  Xenobia  herself  was  no  longer  the  hearty  woman 
whom  Oswald  had  seen  on  that  afternoon  in  October 
in  the  forest  near  Berkow.  Was  it  the  effect  of  the 
weather,  or  was  it  sickness  and  sorrow — but  her  features 
had  little  now  of  that  haughty  energy  which  formerly 
made  them  so  remarkable.  Her  brow  was  furrowed 
wnth  small  lines;  her  eyes  had  sunk  deep  into  their 
orbits  and  did  not  shine  with  the  same  brightness  as  of 
old,  as  she  now  glanced  in  the  direction  from  which  her 
sharp  ear  heard  the  noise  of  a  carriage  coming  from 
Fichtenan. 


»  Through  Night  to  Light.  127 

"  That  is  not  theirs,"  she  said,  letting  her  head  sink 
again.  A  few  minutes  later  a  well-closed  travelling 
carriage,  drawn  by  two  horses,  appeared  rising  out  of  the 
fog.  On  the  box,  by  the  side  of  the  driver,  sat  an  old  man 
with  a  long,  silver-gray  moustache.  He  turned  round 
continually,  to  cast  a  look  at  the  inside  of  the  carriage, 
and  to  smile  respectfully  and  yet  amicably  at  the  occu- 
pants— a  lady  and  a  boy. 

Thus  he  had  failed  to  notice  the  gypsy  woman,  who 
had  stepped  forward  as  she  saw  the  great  lady  in  the 
carriage,  and  asked  for  alms.  What  was  his  amazement, 
therefore,  when  he  saw  that  the  lady  suddenly  called  to 
him  to  stop  the  horses,  exhibiting  all  the  signs  of 
extreme  consternation,  and  that  she  was  standing  in 
the  road  itself  long  before  the  horses  could  be  checked. 

"  Isabel,  it  is  you !  and  the  Czika !  My  God,  how 
fortunate !  "  cried  Melitta,  seizing  both  hands  of  the 
gypsy.  "  Now  I  shall  not  let  you  go  again.  My  God, 
how  very  fortunate  !  "  and  the  young  lady  embraced  the 
gypsy  woman  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

But  the  latter  freed  herself  almost  violently,  and  step- 
ping back  some  little  distance  she  crossed  her  arms  on 
her  bosom  and  looked  at  Melitta  with  a  suspicious, 
almost  hostile  glance. 

"  Do  you  not  know  me,  Isabel }  "  said  Melitta;  "  it  is  I ! 
Have  you  forgotten  the  days  at  Berkow  five  years  ago  ?  " 
That  is  my  Julius,  there  !  And  how  tall  and  how  beauti- 
ful the  Czika  has  grown." 

Julius  had  jumped  out  of  the  carriage  ;  old  Baumann 
also  had  climbed  down  from  the  box. 

Melitta  hastened  up  to  Czika,  embraced  the  child,  and 
kissed  and  caressed  her  over  and  over  again.  The 
others  spoke  to  Xenobia,  who  paid  no  attention  to  them, 
but  looked  with  anxious  eyes  at  Melitta,  who  now  came 
back  to  her,  holding  Czika  by  the  hand. 

"  Isabel !  "  said  Melitta,  "  you  must,  really  you  must, 
give  me  the  little  one.  I  dare  not,  I  cannot,  continue 
my  journey  without  her." 

"Why  will  you  not  leave  us  as  we  are.''"  said  the 
gypsy.  "  You  are  a  great  lady,  fit  for  the  house ;  the 
gypsy  is  fit  only  for  the  forest.     You  would  die  in  the 


128  Through  Night  to  Light. 

forest ;  the  gj'psy  would  die  in  the  house.  I  cannot  go 
with  you." 

"  Then  give  me  the  Czika.^  " 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  boy  1 " 

Melitta  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  She  felt  too 
deeply  that  the  gypsy  woman  could  not  act  differently 
and  that  she,  in  her  place,  would  have  done  the  same. 
And  yet  could  she  let  the  two  go  out  again  into  the 
wide  world .''  To  see  Oldenburg's  little  daughter,  whom 
he  yearned  after,  whom  he  was  searching  for  everywhere, 
disappear  once  more,  after  an  accident  such  as  might 
never  happen  again  in  all  her  life,  has  brought  her  right 
in  her  path — she  could  not  bear  the  thought,  and  like 
a  child  that  feels  how  helpless  and  friendless  it  is,  she 
broke  into  tears. 

The  gypsy  woman  seemed  to  be  touched.  She  took 
Melitta's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  I  know,"  she  said ;  "  I  know  it 
well.  I  would  rather  give  you  the  Czika  than  anybody 
else." 

She  reflected  deeply.  Suddenly  she  took  Melitta's 
hand  once  more  and  led  her  aside. 

*'  Do  you  know,"  she  asked,  "  who  Czika's  father  is  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  are  you  doing  what  you  do  for  the  father's  sake, 
or  for  your  own  ?  " 

Melitta's  cheeks  reddened. 

"  For  the  sake  of  both,"  she  replied,  after  some  hesita- 
tion. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  now  ?  " 

"  Home — to  Berkow." 

"  And  are  you  going  to  stay  there  ?  " 

"  Yes;  at  least  during  the  Avinter." 

"  Then  listen  to  me.  I  swear  to  you  by  the  Great  Spirit, 
I  will  bring  you  the  Czika  as  soon  as  I  feel  that  I  am  to 
be  gathered  to  my  fathers.  That  may  be  very  soon. 
More  I  cannot  promise;  more  I  dare  not  say." 

Melitta  felt  that  she  must  be  satisfied  with  tliis  promise. 
She  knew  the  character  of  the  Brown  Countess  too  well 
not  to  be  aware  that  if  she  had  once  formed  a  resolution, 
all  persuasion  was  in  vain.     She  re-entered  her  carriage, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  129 

therefore,  sadly,  after  having  embraced  Xenobia  and  the 
child  once  more,  and  soon  was  out  of  sight. 

The  rattling  of  the  wheels  and  the  trot  of  the  horses 
were  no  longer  heard.  The  gypsies  were  stili  sitting  by 
the  wayside. 

Another  carriage  came  up  in  the  direction  of  Fich- 
tenan.  One  could  hear  from  afar  off  the  cries  of  the 
driver,  and  the  clanking  of  chains  which  formed  part 
of  the  harness. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  wagon  appeared  out  of  the 
mist.  It  was  a  huge  box — a  whole  house  on  four  wheels, 
stuffed  up  to  the  roof  and  high  above  the  roof  with 
chests  and  boxes,  kettle  drums  and  trombones,  stage 
scenery,  poles  and  ladders,  and  all  kinds  of  kitchen 
utensils  and  stage  property.  The  four  horses  who  drew 
this  Noah's  Ark  had  hard  Avork  of  it. 

Before  the  wagon  a  number  of  men  were  walking  on 
foot — Cotterby,  the  Egyptian  ;  the  artist  of  the  gigantic 
cask,  Mr.  Stolsenberg;  and  the  clown,  Pierrot.  All 
these  gentlemen  Avore  gay-colored  shawls  around  the 
neck,  and  had  short  pipes  in  their  mouths.  From  the 
open  windows  of  the  ark  the  crying  of  children  was 
heard,  and  the  scolding  voice  of  Mamselle  Adele.  Be- 
hind the  wagon  followed,  apparently  in  eager  conversa- 
tion, the  director,  Mr.  Schmenckel  (also  with  a  bright 
shawl  around  the  neck  and  a  pipe  in  his  mouth),  and  a 
man  in  a  blue  blouse,  with  a  heavy  stick  in  his  hand,  and 
an  old  slouched  hat  on  his  head.  Director  Schmenckel 
had  made  his  acquaintance  a  few  nights  before  under 
very  peculiar  circumstances,  in  the  drinking-hall  of  the 
Green  Hat ;  he  had  met  him  since  very  frequently  at 
the  same  tavern,  and  found  him  quite  unexpectedly  that 
morning,  ready  to  join  the  rope-dancers,  just  as  they 
were  leaving  the  village. 

When  the  wagon  reached  the  cross-roads  the  driver 
stopped  to  let  the  horses  breathe. 

The  gypsy  woman  with  her  child  stepped  up  and  was 
vociferously  greeted  by  the  rope-dancers. 

Mr.  Schmenckel  shook  hands  with  her,  and  patted  the 
Czika  paternally  on  her  brown  cheeks. 

"  That's  right,  Xenobia !  here  you  are,  back  again  !  " 
6* 


130  Through  Night  to  Light. 

he  said.  "  We  could,  by  the  great  dickens,  not  get  on 
withovit  you  at  all.  Good-by,  professor !  Thanks  for 
the  escort !  You  must  turn  back  here,  or  you  won't  find 
the  way  to  Fichtenan." 

"I'll  go  a  little  further  with  you,"  replied  the  man  in 
the  blouse. 

"  All  right !  "  said  Mr.  Schmenckel ;  "  the  further  the 
better.  Such  a  good  old  brick,  like  yourself,  we  do  not 
meet  with  every  day.  Is  all  right  in  there  1  Well,  go 
on  then! " 

The  wagon  was  set  in  motion.  After  a  few  minutes 
the  whole  procession — wagon,  horses,  and  men,  had  been 
swallowed  up  by  the  thick  gray  fog. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  town  of  Grunwald  played,  in  days  previous  to 
those  to  which  this  story  belongs,  a  far  more  im- 
portant part  than  now.  It  had  been  an  honored 
member  of  the  great  Hanse  League,  and  rivalled  Ham- 
burg, Bremen,  and  Lvibeck  in  Avealth  and  power.  Its  ships 
sailed  on  all  the  northern  seas,  and  the  Grunwald  flag  was 
well  known  even  in  the  ports  of  Genoa  and  Venice.  The 
citizens  were  a  broad-shouldered,  hard-headed  race, 
strong  in  their  love  and  their  hatred,  and  thorough  in  all 
their  ways.  They  were  justly  proud  of  their  liberties  and 
their  privileges,  and  trusted  implicitly  in  their  secure 
position,  amid  the  ocean  and  bottomless  swamps,  and  the 
high  walls  and  ramparts  of  the  city,  but  more  fully  yet  in 
the  sword  by  their  side  and  the  brave  heart  in  their  bosom. 
Even  in  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  Grunwald  still  proved  its 
ancient  reputation  in  fierce  battle  against  the  Imperial- 
ists, and  the  recollection  of  the  glorious  deeds  of  their 
forefathers  survives  to  this  day  in  the  hearts  of  the  pres- 
ent inhabitants. 

They  must  unfortunately  fall  back  upon  past  glory, 
for  modern  times  have  done  little  for  them  in  this  re- 
spect.    The  long  and  tortuous  canals  in  the  great  bay 


Through  A'l'gkt  to  Light.  131 

on  which  the  town  is  situated  admit  only  of  small 
vessels  of  light  draught,  and  navigation  nowadays  can- 
not well  get  along  with  such  ships ;  trade  has,  besides, 
sought  other  roads  and  found  other  markets,  and  Grun- 
■wald  has  slowly  but  steadily  sunk  from  its  proud  emi- 
nence, till  it  has  fallen  at  last  to  the  level  of  a  small 
provincial  town  of  no  account  in  the  great  world,  as  far 
as  political  influence  and  commercial  importance  are 
concerned. 

The  harbor  is  filled  up  now,  the  ramparts  are  razed, 
and  the  once  enormous  walls  exist  only  in  fragments, 
and  yet  there  is  a  melancholy  sheen  of  former  greatness 
about  the  old  Hanse  town  which  attracts  the  thoughtful 
traveller,  as  the  mouldy  smell  of  an  old  parchment 
charms  the  book-worm.  In  spite  of  all  the  efforts  made 
by  the  last  generations  to  give  the  town  a  sober,  trivial 
appearance,  they  have  after  all  not  been  able  to  straighten 
all  the  crooked  narrow  streets,  and  to  destroy  all  the 
poetry  of  many  an  old  house,  with  its  narrow,  lofty,  and 
richly-adorned  gable-end.  And  above  the  labyrinth  of 
streets,  lanes,  and  courts,  with  their  half-modern,  half- 
mediaeval  character,  there  tower  still  the  steeples  of 
glorious  churches,  which  are  far  too  grand  for  the  re- 
duced proportions  of  Grunwald.  But  at  night,  when 
they  cast  their  gigantic  shadows  far  over  the  town 
which  sleeps  beneath  them  in  the  pale  moonlight,  or  in 
the  evening  as  you  approach  the  harbor  from  the  open 
sea,  and  gray  mists  rising  from  the  water  spread  over 
the  whole  a  mysterious  veil,  the  illusion  is  yet  strong, 
and  the  effect  full  of  grandeur. 

Justice  requires,  however,  to  add  that  Grunwald  can 
be  called  insignificant  only  in  comparison  wnth  former 
days  of  great  power  and  surpassing  splendor.  The 
town  is  still  of  vast  importance  for  the  whole  province 
in  which  it  is  situated.  If  her  flag  no  longer  waves  on 
every  sea,  her  port  is  still  continually  crowded  with 
schooners  and  sloops,  and  near  her  wharves  many  a 
larger  vessel  awaits  completion  on  the  stocks.  If  her 
walls  have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  the  artillery  of  the 
Imperialists,  and  her  ramparts  have  been  razed  by  the 
French,  the  town  is  still  a  fortress,  whose  commandant 


132  Through  Night  to  Light. 

would  not  sleep  quietly  unless  he  had  received  from  all 
the  guards  and  pOsts  the  report  that  all  is  quiet.  If 
the  town  has  lost  her  ancient  privileges,  and  no  longer 
enjoys  as  of  old  perfect  freedom  and  sovereign  independ- 
ence, she  has  profitted  on  the  other  hand  largely  by 
becoming  an  integral  part  of  a  great  monarchy.  Grun- 
wald  has  not  only  a  numerous  garrison  of  infantry  and 
artillery,  but  is  also  the  seat  of  the  highest  court  of  the 
province ;  and  above  all,  as  everybody  knows,  enjoys  a 
university,  although  the  light  shed  by  this  seat  of  the 
muses  cannot  be  said  to  penetrate  far  into  distant  lands. 
GrunAvald  is,  moreover,  the  favorite  residence  of  the 
surrounding  nobility,  which  is  particularly  rich,  and 
enjoys  a  very  great  influence  on  public  life.  When  the 
magnificent  crops  upon  their  vast  domains  have  been 
safely  hovised,  when  the  trees  in  their  parks  lose  their 
foliage  in  the  autumn  winds,  and  the  crows  migrate  from 
the  bare  woods  to  the  towns,  then  all  the  counts  and 
barons  and  smaller  noblemen  also  come  to  Grunwald. 
From  the  great  island,  which  lies  right  opposite  the 
town,  and  from  the  whole  surrounding  country,  they 
come  in  their  lumbering  state  carriages,  all  driven  four- 
in-hand,  and  settle  down  with  children,  servants,  tutors, 
and  governesses  for  the  whole  winter.  They  own  stately 
houses  all  over  the  town,  which  in  summer  are  easily 
known  by  their  utter  silence,  the  closed  curtains,  and  the 
grass  growing  in  idyllic  happiness  between  the  flags  of 
their  court-yards — far  different  from  the  ordinary  houses 
inhabited  by  ordinary  people,  who  have  to  pay  taxes, 
enjoy  no  privileges,  and  are  forced  to  work  summer  and 
winter  alike. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

IT  is  autumn.     The  fields  are  bare  ;  from  the  linden- 
trees   in   the    court-yard   at    Grenwitz    the   brown 
leaves  are  falling  in  showers.     Thick  fogs  cover  the 
sea,  the  high  shores  of  the  island  with  their  noble  beech- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  133 

forests,  and  the  low  coast  of  the  continent.  The  towers 
of  Grunwald  rise  out  of  the  mist  like  giants  of  former 
days,  and  around  the  lofty  steeples  crows  and  blackbirds 
are  fluttering,  having  left  the  unhospitable  forests  to 
move  to  warm  cities. 

The  sun  has  set  for  an  hour,  and  the  last  blood-red 
streak,  just  above  the  edge  of  the  sea,  has  turned  pale  in 
the  shadow  of  the  heavy,  low -drifting  clouds.  The 
streets  of  the  town  have  grown  silent,  and  the  lamp- 
lighter is  lighting  one  after  the.  other  the  oil  lamps, 
whose  dim  light  is  useful  only  in  making  the  mist  still 
denser  and  the  darkness  still  darker.  He  has  just  done 
with  two  unusually  large  and  bright  lamps  before  the 
entrance-gate  to  a  huge,  massive  building  in  one  of  the 
streets  that  lead  down  to  the  harbor.  It  was  the  first 
time  this  year — a  proof  that  the  great  family  which  has 
owned  this  house  for  many  a  generation,  and  which  lives 
on  its  estates  regularly  in  summer,  and  quite  frequently 
in  the  winter  also,  has  moved  into  town  on  that  very 
day. 

Nevertheless  the  windows  of  the  mansion  which  look 
upon  the  street  are  still  dark.  They  are,  to  be  sure, 
rarely  seen  lighted  up,  only  on  solemn  occasions,  when 
the  family  gives  one  of  those  stiff  evening  parties,  to 
Avhich  of  course  only  the  nobility  and  the  very  highest 
officials  in  the  government  service  are  ever  invited. 

Ordinarily  these  state  apartments  remain  closed,  ex- 
actly like  the  lofty  halls  and  grand  reception-rooms  of 
the  hereditary  castle  in  the  country,  and  the  family  are 
content  to  live  in  the  less  gorgeous  rooms  which  look 
upon  the  rear.  The  modest,  exceedingly  unpretending 
taste  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  prefers  the  latter,  all 
the  more  as  the  front  rooms  can  only  be  heated  at 
great  expense,  and  the  woods  of  the  Grenwitz  estate,  as 
far  as  entailed,  are  rented  out  at  the  ludicrously  small 
sum  of  ten  thousand  dollars. 

In  one  of  these  rooms,  which  was  stately  enough,  sits 
the  Baroness  Grenwitz  on  a  sofa  before  a  round  table, 
on  which  two  wax-candles  are  burning  brightly.  She 
looks  as  if  the  last  six  weeks  had  added  as  many  years 
to  her  age.     Her  forehead  has  become  narrower  and 


134  Through  Night  to  Light. 

more  angular,  the  dark  hair  shows  here  and  there  a  sil- 
ver thread,  her  eyes  look  larger  and  more  fixed  and 
meaning  than  ever.  Her  nephew,  ^elix,  is  lounging  in 
a  most  comfortable  position  opposite  her,  in  a  large  easy- 
chair,  filled  with  soft  cushions.  The  young  man  wears 
his  right  arm  in  a  sling,  and  the  sickly  pallor  of  his  face 
contrasts  strangely  with  his  hair,  as  carefully  parted  and 
curled  as  ever,  and  with  the  whole  toilet,  which  is  as  per- 
fect as  usual.  Between  the  two  stands  a  table,  covered 
with  letters  and  papers,  all  of  them  written  in  the  same 
handsome  handwriting.  The  baroness  and  Felix  seem 
just  to  have  finished  the  perusal  of  these  documents, 
and  to  be  still  too  busy  with  the  thoughts  which  have 
been  suggested  by  them,  to  be  able  to  speak.  They  are 
brooding  in  silence  over  the  impression  produced  on 
each  one,  while  the  monotonous  tic-tac  of  the  pendulum 
of  the  rococo  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  is  the  only 
noise  heard  in  the  room. 

At  last  the  young  man  breaks  the  silence. 

"The  thing  looks  more  serious  than  either  of  us 
thought,"  he  says,  raising  himself  slightly  in  his  easy- 
chair,  and  taking  up  once  more  the  paper  he  had  been 
reading  last. 

"  I  still  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it,"  replied  the  baron- 
ess. 

"  That  is  saying  a  good  deal,  ma  tante  !  although  you 
have  read  the  whole  story  in  black  and  white." 

"In  Timm's  handwriting!  In  Timm's  handwriting! 
what  must  the  scamp  have  invented  and  written  up !  " 

"  Certainly  nothing  but  what  is  in  the  original  docu- 
ments." 

"  And  why  does  he  not  send  us  the  originals  }  " 

"  But,  pardon  me,  ma  tante.,  that  is  rather  a  naive  ques- 
tion. To  surrender  the  originals- — that  is  to  say,  the 
weapons  which  he  means  to  use  against  us — would  be  an 
act  of  generosity  or  stupidity  such  as  you  cannot  possibly 
expect  from  my  good  friend  Timm,  who  is  a  very  sly 
fox,  I  assure  you.  He  evidently  does  not  fear  to  be  un- 
masked, but  only  to  be  deceived  or  over-reached  by  us, 
else  he  would  not  have  made  the  offer  to  submit  the 
original  papers  in  the  presence   of  a   third  party,  an 


Through  Night  to  Light.  135 

umpire,  to  our  minute  examination.  No,  no,  dear  aunt ; 
do  not  give  yourself  vip  to  idle  hopes.  These  letters 
and  papers  are  really  in  existence ;  you  may  take  poison 
upon  that." 

"  What  do  you  say  1  " 

"  I  mean,  you  may  rely  on  that.  I,  for  my  part,  am  as 
fully  convinced  that  this  Monsieur  Stein  is  related  to 
the  family  of  Grenwitz  as  of  my  own  existence,  and 
therefore  I  hate  the  man,  as  one  is  apt  to  hate  such  an 
interloper  of  a  relative,  especially  if  he  happens  to  be  a 
conceited,  vain,  puffed-up,  impertinent,  accursed  black- 
guard, like  this  scamp  of  a  good-for-nothing  fellow." 

This  flood  of  names,  little  suitable  to  the  place,  would 
under  other  circumstances  have  infallibly  brought  down 
upon  the  ex-lieutenant  a  severe  reprimand  from  his 
highly  moral  aunt.  At  this  moment,  however,  the  lady 
was  too  busy  with  other  things. 

"  But  nothing  has  as  yet  been  proved,"  she  said,  with 
obstinate  vehemence,  "  as  long  as  the  identity  of  that 
man  with  the  child  of  that  Marie  Monbert  has  not  been 
fully  established  by  the  clearest  evidence.  I  grant  the 
thing  is  probable — it  may  be  plausible  even  ;  neverthe- 
less we  cannot  afford  to  throw  away  hundreds  of  dollars 
for  mere  probabilities  or  plausibilities." 

"Hundreds.'"  replied  Felix,  with  a  contemptuous 
smile.  "  You  may  say  thousands  !  Timm  will  not  let  us 
slip  out  of  his  tight  grip  so  cheaply." 

"You  cannot  be  In  earnest.'*  "  said  the  baroness,  rais- 
ing her  eyebrows,  Juno-fashion.  "  That  man  will  surely 
not  carry  his  impudence  so  far  as  that !  " 

"  A^oi/s  verro)2s  !  "  replied  the  dandy,  laconically,  and 
fell  back  into  his  easy-chair. 

There  tollowed  a  pause  in  the  conversation  of  the 
accomplices,  which  Felix  improved  to  subject  his  finger- 
nails to  a  minute  examination,  while  the  baroness 
busied  herself  in  arranging  the  papers  on  the  table  ac- 
cording to  their  numbers  (for  they  were  all  methodi- 
cally numbered). 

"The  gentleman  keeps  us  waiting,"  said  the  baroness. 

"He  pretends  to  be  indifferent,"  replied  Felix.  "I 
know  him  from  of  old.     Whenever  he  pretended  to  be 


136  Through  Night  to  Light. 

tired,  and  to  wish  to  go  home,  we  could  be  sure  that  he 
was  determined  to  break  the  bank  !  " 

At  that  moment  the  servant  announced  :  "  Mr.  Albert 
Timm  desires  to  pay  his  respects." 

"  Show  him  in,"  said  the  baroness,  raising  herself  up- 
right, with  her  accustomed  dignity  ;  but  Iier  voice  was 
not  as  firm  as  usual. 

"For  heaven's  sake  keep  your  temper,  aunt!"  said 
Felix  in  great  haste,  while  the  servant  went  to  show  in 
Timm.  "  If  the  rascal  sees  that  our  pulse  goes  faster, 
he'll  pull  the  screws  tighter,  and " 

"  I  am  perfectly  calm,"  replied  the  baroness,  although 
the  unusual  flush  on  her  cheeks  and  the  quick  breathing 
announced  just  the  contrary. 

Half  a  minute's  intense  excitement  on  the  part  of  the 
persons  in  the  room  and  the  door  opened,  admitting 
Mr.  Timm,  who  walked  in  rapidly. 

His  appearance  was,  aside  from  a  somewhat  more 
carefully  chosen  costume  of  fashionable  cut,  precisely 
the  same  which  lingered  still  in  Anna  Maria's  recollec- 
tion from  last  summer  :  the  same  white  brow,  the  same 
smoothly-brushed  light  hair,  the  same  fresh,  rosy  cheeks, 
and  the  same  impertinent  smile  upon  the  smooth,  hand- 
some face.  If  the  baroness  looked  at  her  favorite,  in 
spite  of  his  unchanged  appearance,  with  very  different 
eyes  now,  the  fault  was  evidently  her  own.  Mr.  Timm 
was  not  disposed  to  allow  the  cold  reception  to  have 
the  slightest  influence  on  his  own  warm  greetings. 

"  Good  evening,  baroness  !  Good  evening,  baron  !  " 
said  Mr.  Timm,  in  his  clear,  fresh  voice,  kissing  Anna 
Maria's  right  hand,  which  she  granted  him  most  reluctant- 
ly, and  heartily  shaking  Felix's  left  hand  (the  other  was  in 
the  sling).  "  Delighted,  baroness,  to  see  you  look  so 
remarkably  well — so  cheerful  too  ;  and  as  for  you,  baron, 
— well,  I  may  say,  considering  the  circumstances,  not 
so  bad  !     Permit  me  to  follow  your  example "  ' 

And  Mr.  Timm  moved  one  of  the  heavy  arm-chairS| 
which  were  standing  around  the  table,  sat  down,  and' 
looked  at  the  two  with  eyes  beaming  with  insolence  and 
intense  delight,  as  far  as  one  could  judge,  through  his 
glasses. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  137 

"  Mighty  comfortable  !  "  he  continued,  stretching  out 
his  legs  and  patting  the  arms  of  the  chair  with  his  hands. 
"  And  the  baron  stayed  at  home  !  Must  be  devilish  un- 
comfortable in  the  big,  damp,  old  box." 

"  The  baron  had  to  attend  to  some  very  important 
business,"  said  the  baroness,  merely  to  say  something. 

"Business!"  cried  Mr.  Timm.  "How  can  anybody 
trouble  himself  about  business  when  his  business  is,  like 
the  baron's,  not  to  have  any  business  at  all  I  Incompre- 
hensible !  " 

"  You  ought  to  be  able  to  comprehend  that  very  well, 
Timm,"  said  Felix,  with  very  perceptible  irony ;  "  other- 
wise I  should  not  be  able  to  guess  why  you  have  troubled 
yourself  about  a  certain  business." 

"  A  lawsuit  is  no  business,"  remarked  Timm. 

"  But  it  may  become  one,"  said  Felix. 

"  For  instance,  if  one  borrows  money  from  the  Jews, 
and  sues  them  afterwards,  when  they  want  to  be  paid,  for 
usury,"  replied  Timm. 

This  recollection  from  the  early  life  of  Felix  was  so 
little  to  the  taste  of  the  ex-lieutenant  that  he  turned 
over  impatiently  in  his  chair,  and  said  in  an  audibly  irri- 
tated tone  : 

"  I  think  we  had  better  come  to  the  point." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Timm,  drawing  up  his 
chair  close  to  the  table,  with  an  expression  which  by  no 
means  belied  his  words. 

"  You  have  been  kind  enough,"  began  Felix,  while 
the  baroness  stared  with  furrowed  brow  and  downcast 
eyes  into  her  lap,  "  to  send  us,  at  our  request,  copies  of 
certain  letters,  and  so  forth,  which  you  say  you  have 
found  among  the  papers  of  your  deceased  father." 

"  You  mean,  which  you  have  found,  baron  !  " 

"  Very  well,  then ;  which  you  have  found.  We  can 
admit  that  without  committing  ourselves,  for  there  is 
nothing  in  them  all  to  show  how  this  fabulous  son  of 
my  uncle  Harald  can  be  helped  by  your  aid — as  you 
are  good  enough  to  state  in  your  letter — to  the  inheri- 
tance he  may  claim." 

"  That  depends  entirely  vipon  the  point  de  vue  from 
which  you  look  at  the  matter,"  replied  Mr,  Timm 


138  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  And  may  I  beg  you  Avill  inform  vis  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  It  gives  me  special  pleasure  to  do  so. 
According  to  my  view  tlie  thing  is  this :  I  have  here  a 
number  of  documents  and  papers,  which  not  only  shed  a 
light  on  the  relations  once  existing  between  Baron 
Harald  and  Mademoiselle  Marie  Montbert,  but  which 
would  also,  in  the  hands  of  an  able,  practical  man  (such 
as  any  good  lawyer  would  represent),  give  a  certain  clue 
to  the  subsequent  fate  of  the  said  Marie  Montbert  and 
of  her  child ;  that  is  to  say,  of  the  two  persons  who  ac- 
cording to  the  last  will  of  Baron  Harald  are  alone  enti- 
tled to  the  possession  of  the  estates  of  Stantow  and  Baer- 
walde." 

"  What  do  you  call  a  certain  clue,  Mr.  Timm }  "  in- 
quired the  baroness. 

"  A  clue  that  can  be  established  upon  evidence,  madame. 
It  can  be  established  that  the  person  to  whom  I  have 
referred,  and  in  whom  I  believe  I  have  discovered  by  a 
fortunate  combination  of  very  remarkable  and  almost 
miraculous  circumstances  the  heir  in  question,  bears,  in 
the  first  place,  the  same  name  which  Monsieur  d'Estein 
(pray  look  at  letter  No.  25)  says  he  intends  to  assume 
after  the  elopement  with  Marie  Montbert.  In  the  second 
place,  it  can  be  established  that  a  man  called  Stein,  and 
accompanied  by  a  young  woman  who  passed  for  his  wife, 
and  by  a  child  which  passed  for  his  son,  settled  shortly 
after  Baron  Harald's  death  in  the  town  of  W ." 

"  How  do  you  know  that.?  "  asked  Felix. 

"  I  have  been  myself  to  W ,  and  have  spoken  with 

the  old  woman  in  whose  house  Mr.  Stein  lived  from  the 
'first  to  the  very  last  day  of  his  residence  in  that  town." 

"  Go  on  !  " 

"  In  the  third  place,  it  is  established  that  this  Mr. 
Stein  is  the  same  person  who  eloped  with  Marie  Mont- 
bert from  Grenwitz,  viz..  Monsieur  d'Estein,  who  alone 
had  a  right  to  help  the  young  lady,  and  who  alone  was 
obliged  to  do  so." 

"  Why  the  same  person  }  " 

"  Because  the  man  who  managed  the  elopement  looked 
exactly  like  the  man  who  a  few  months  afterwards  set- 
tled in  W ." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  139 

"  That  might  not  be  so  easy  to  prove,"  cried  Felix, 
with  a  smile  of  incredulity. 

"  Easier  than  you  think.  I  have  (quite  accidentally) 
discovered  the  man  at  whose  house  Monsieur  d'Estein, 
then  already  under  the  name  of  Stein,  stayed  a  fort- 
night in  order  to  ascertain  the  opportunities  at  Grenwitz, 
and  who  afterwards  drove  in  the  night  of  the  elopement 
the  couple  in  his  carriage  from  Grenwitz  to  that  very 
ferry  on  which  you  crossed  to-day.  This  man's  name 
is  Clas  Wendorf;  he  lives  in  Fashwitz,  and  is  well 
known  to  everybody  (even  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Jager)  as  a 
perfectly  trustworthy  man.  If  this  man  were  to  be  con- 
fronted with  Mrs.  Pahuke  in  W ,  the  identity  of  the 

man  who  eloped  with  Marie  Montbert,  viz..  Monsieur 

d'Estein,  with  the  French  teacher  Stein  in  W ,  would 

be  established  beyond  all  doubt." 

The  baroness  and  Felix  looked  at  each  other,  while 
Timm  was  making  his  statement,  in  a  manner  which 
betrayed  but  too  clearly  the  consternation  which  the 
irresistible  logic  of  their  enemy  produced  in  their  minds. 

"  You  have  made  good  use  of  the  last  four  weeks," 
said  Felix. 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Timm,  good-humoredly.  "The 
days  are  getting  to  be  short  now.  Besides,  I  had  to  be 
exceedingly  cautious  in  making  my  inqviiries,  since  I  had 
promised  you  not  to  let  anybody  into  the  secret  until  I 
should  have  communicated  the  matter  more  fully  to  you, 
and  I  meant  to  keep  my  promise.  Hereafter,  when  I 
can  go  to  work  without  any  such  precautionary  mea- 
sures, and  when  I  can  avail  myself  of  all  the  assistance 
which  the  law  affords  in  such  cases,  I  shall  probably  be 
able  to  do  more  in  four  days  than  I  have  now  done  in 
as  many  weeks." 

And  Mr.  Timm  rubbed  his  hands  Avith  delight. 

"  Then  you  really  think  of  making  this  ridiculous 
affair  public?"  said  Anna  Maria,  in  a  tone  which  she 
meant  to  be  ironical. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  madame !  "  replied  Mr. 
Timm,  with  an  air  of  ingenuous  simplicity  which, 
in  a  farce,  would  have  earned  him  the  applause  of  all 
the  connoisseurs  in  the  pit. 


140  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  I  mean :  do  you  really  intend,  contrary  to  our 
wishes  and  intentions,  to  expose  to  common  gossip  and 
the  scoff  and  scorn  of  vulgar  plebeians,  an  affair  which 
concerns  no  one  but  our  own  family,  and  which,  more- 
over, has  been  forgotten  and  buried  these  many  years?  " 

The  applause  of  the  connoisseurs  would  have  be- 
come louder  and  louder,  as  they  watched  the  peculiar 
expression  in  Mr.  Timm's  face. 

"  Contrary  to  your  wishes  and  intentions  .  .  .  An 
affair  which  concerns  no  one  but  your  family  ...  I 
really  have  not  the  advantage  of  knowing  how  I  am 
to  interpret  the  lady's  words.  I  find  it  impossible  to 
believe  that  a  lady  who  is  so  universally  known  for  her 
stern  sense  of  justice  as  the  Baroness  Grenwitz  should 
wish  anything  different  from  the  last  will  of  a  dying 
man,  when  chance  or  providence  brings  it  about,  when, 
against  all  human  expectations,  that  last  will  can  after 
many  years  be  fulfilled  ;  I  find  it  impossible  to  believe 
that.  But  what  am  I  saying.'  You  will  laugh  at  me 
that  I  have  taken  a  jest,  by  which  you  wished  to  ridicule 
my  over-great  desire  to  serve  you,  for  a  moment  in  good 
earnest.  Do  I  not  know  better  than  anybody  else  that 
I  have  acted  exactly  according  to  your  views  by  pre- 
serving all  the  documents,  the  sacred  relics  of  departed 
friends,  like  a  precious  treasure,  and  by  doing  whatever 
I  could  do  towards  securing  the  property  to  the  right- 
ful owner  .-*  Do  I  not  know  that  your  hesitation,  your 
incredulity,  your  mistrust  even,  are  only  the  result  of 
your  apprehension  to  awaken  in  the  heart  of  a  fellow- 
being  brilliant  expectations,  which  may  not  be  realized, 
for,  however  improbable,  it  is  not  absolutely  impossible 
that  we  may  be  mistaken.  Do  I  not  know  that  all  the 
parties  concerned  are  of  one  and  the  same  opinion,  and 
that  your  husband,  whom  you  have  no  doubt  promptly 
informed  of  all  the  details,  is  overjoyous  to  pay  off  an 
old  debt  which  fortunately  is  not  yet  extinguished  by 
limitation.''  " 

The  position  of  a  captured  she  bear,  whom  the  increas- 
ing heat  of  the  bars  of  her  cage  forces  to  rise  on  her  hind 
legs  and  to  dance  as  gracefully  as  she  can,  while  she 
would  like  nothing  better  than  to  break  out  of  her  prison 


Through  Night  to  Light.  141 

and  to  tear  her  adversary  to  pieces,  resemDles  exactly 
that  of  the  baroness  as  she  was  now  sitting  opposite  to 
Mr.  Timm.  The  cruel  irony  with  Av^hich  Mr.  Timm 
appealed  to  that  sense  of  justice  and  equity  of  which 
she  had  boasted  all  her  life,  and  of  which  she  after  all 
had  nothing  but  the  outward  appearance,  seized  her  like 
a  hot  iron.  Her  cold,  selfish  heart  boiled  over  with  in- 
dignation. Rage  and  fury  filled  her  soul.  She  would 
have  liked  to  strangle  Timm,  who  sat  smiling  before  her 
— to  stab  him,  poison  him.  And  she  could  do  nothing, 
nothing,  but  swallow  her  wrath,  and  to  say  with  all  the 
calmness  she  might  command : 

"  Mr.  Timm,  you  do  not  look  upon  the  matter  exactly 
as  Ave  do ;  and  it  is,  of  course,  quite  natural  that  you, 
who  are  standing  outside,  should  also  see  nothing  of  it 
but  the  outside.  Unfortunately  I  am  too  tired  to-night 
to  explain  to  you  my  own  views  of  the  affair.  I  have 
requested  my  nephew,  Felix,  to  do  it  in  my  place,  and  I 
beg  you,  therefore,  to  look  upon  anything  he  may  tell 
you  as  if  it  were  coming  from  myself.  I  am  fully  per- 
suaded that  you  will  find  no  difficulty  in  choosing  be- 
tween the  good  will  of  the  family  of  Grenwitz  and  the 
friendship  of  a  nameless  adventurer.  Good-by,  Mr. 
Timm !  " 

"  Regret  infinitely  not  to  be  able  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  any  longer,  baroness,"  said  Mr.  Timm, 
accompanying  the  baroness  to  the  door ;  "  hope  it  is 
nothing  but  a  passing  indisposition,  which  will  soon 
disappear  after  a  good  night's  rest.  Hope  you  will  rest 
well,  madame !  " 

And  Mr.  Timm  closed  the  door  after  the  baroness, 
'came  back,  sat  down  in  his  easy-chair  opposite  to  Felix, 
put  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  said,  in  a  dry,  short  manner, 
jwhich  contrasted  very  strangely  with  the  smooth  kind- 
.ness  of  his  language  so  far  : 

''Eh  Men!'' 

No  answer  came  for  some  little  time.  The  two  men 
looked  for  a  few  seconds  at  each  other  with  sharp,  sus- 
picious glances,  like  two  combatants  v/ho  try  to  find 
out  their  weak  points — like  two  tricky  gamesters,  each 
one  of  whom  knows  how  carefully  he  must  watch  the 


142  Through  Night  to  Light. 

hands  of  the  other,  and  who  yet  is  not  quite  sure  that  he 
will  not  be  duped.  They  both  remembered,  moreover, 
that  there  was  an  old  account  to  settle  between  them, 
which  dated  back  from  the  time  when  Ensign  Baron 
Grenwitz  had  treacherously  abandoned  Ensign  Albert 
Timm  in  order  to  save  himself  (it  was  a  matter  of  se- 
curity on  a  bill),  and  Felix  knew  perfectly  well  that 
Albert  was  one  of  those  men  who,  whenever  they  can 
get  the  law  or  the  right  of  the  stronger  on  their  side, 
insist  upon  being  paid  by  their  debtors  to  the  very  last 
farthing. 

He  had  therefore  to  summon  all  his  skill  and  self- 
control,  in  order  to  overcome  an  unpleasant  sensation 
which  threatened  to  master  him  as  he  faced  his  adver- 
sary, who  was  armed  cap  a  pie,  and  utterly  without  pity. 
Still  he  succeeded  in  assuming  a  tone  of  good-natured 
frankness  (which  sat  very  awkwardly  upon  him)  as  he 
said: 

"  I  think,  Timm,  we  had  better  treat  the  whole  matter 
without  reservation  or  trick,  like  men  who  know  the 
w^orld  and  what  they  are  about." 

"  If  you  know  as  well  what  you  are  about  as  I  do, 
why,  then,  the  whole  thing  is  easily  settled,"  replied  Al- 
bert, dryly. 

"  Well,  tell  me  then  frankly,  what  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  seller,  you  are  the  buyer ;  it  is  your  duty 
first  to  say  distinctly  what  you  wish  to  buy." 

"  We  want  the  originals  of  those  papers  on  the  table, 
and  your  word  of  honor  that  you  will  never  inform  any 
one,  whosoever  it  be,  by  writing  or  by  word  of  mouth,  or 
in  any  other  way,  of  the  discovery  which  you  have  made." 

'■'■Bon  !  I  understand  what  you  want." 

"And  what  do  you  ask  on  your  side.? " 

Albert  bent  over  a  little,  and  said  in  a  low  but  very 
distinct  voice,  with  his  eyes  firmly  fixed  on  his  adver- 
sary : 

"  Twenty  thousand  dollars  in  Prussian  current  money, 
payable  between  now  and  eight  days." 

"  The  devil !  "  cried  Felix,  jumping  up  from  his  chair, 
in  spite  of  his  feebleness,  and  running  around  the  room. 
*'  Twenty  thousand  dollars!  why,  that  is  a  fortune." 


Throu<rh  Ni^ht  to  Lhlit. 


143 


Albert  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Two  years'  interest  of  the  sum  represented  by  the 
two  estates  of  Stantow  and  Baerwalde.  You  must  know 
best,  of  course,  what  the  legacy  is  worth  to  you." 

"But  that  is  atrocious!"  cried  Felix,  still  running 
about  in  the  room;  "atrocious  !  " 

"Don't  holler,.  Grenwitz;  your  people  might  hear 
you  down  in  the  kitchen.  Sit  down,  if  you  please,  and 
let  lis  talk  the  matter  over  like  men  who  know  the 
world." 

The  unconquerable  coolness  and  the  cutting  irony 
with  which  Albert  uttered  these  words  acted  like  a 
douche  upon  Felix's  violent  agitation.  He  sat  down, 
and  said,  in  a  calmer  tone  : 

"  My  aunt  will  never  listen  to  such  a  demand." 

"  I  should  be  sorry,  for  your  sake,  and  for  your  aunt's 
sake,  if  you  were  not  to  accept  my  offer.  I  can  only 
make  you  both  responsible  for  the  consequences." 

"  You  speak  as  if  it  depended  on  no  one  but  yourself 
who  was  to  have  the  two  estates  !" 

"  And  on  whom  else  can  it  depend .'  "  replied  Albert, 
and  his  lips  seemed  to  grow  thinner,  his  nose  more 
pointed,  and  his  whole  face  sharper,  as  he  spoke  :  "  I  tell 
you,  I  have  made  the  net  so  close  and  so  strong — leaving 
only  a  few  meshes  open  on  purpose  till  I  should  hear 
your  decision — that  I  can  draw  it  together  at  any  mo- 
ment, right  over  your  head,  and  you  may  struggle  as 
you  may ;  it  will  not  break,  but  you  will  die.  You 
know,  Grenwitz,  that  I  have  rather  a  good  head  for  such 
things,  and  you  know  also  that  I  have  no  cause  to  show 
you  the  shadow  of  generosity." 

"  Me !  I  have  no  personal  interest  wliatever  in  the 
whole  matter." 

"Do  you  think  I  am  a  child,  Grenwitz.'  Don't  you 
want  to  marry  Miss  Helen  ?  and  are  not  the  two  estates 
to  be  the  dower  of  the  young  lady  .''  " 

"I  marry  Helen!  Who  says  so.'  I  don't  dream  ot 
it." 

"  Well,  then,  don't  marry  her  ;  hand  the  young  beauty 
over  to  the  man  whom  you  have  more  reason  to  hate 
than  all  other  men — who  is  even  now  your  favored  rival 


144  Through  Night  to  Light. 

— at  least  evil  report  has  it  so — and  Avho  will  lose  noth- 
ing, I  am  sure,  in  Miss  Helen's  eyes,  if  he  can  present 
himself  a  second  time  as  her  cousin,  and  the  lawful  heir  of 
a  very  considerable  fortune." 

Felix  had  turned  alternately  white  and  red  as  his  ad- 
versary was  inexorably  punishing  him  with  these  words. 
His  vanity,  deeply  wounded  by  the  allusion  to  his  fatal 
encounter  with  Oswald,  writhed  like  a  worm  on  which 
somebody  has  trod.  He  could  not  but  confess  that  for 
the  moment  Albert  was  by  far  the  stronger  of  the  two, 
and  that  he,  who  was  so  proud  of  his  cleverness  and 
adroitness,  was  utterly  helpless  in  the  power  of  an  ad- 
versary whom  he  haH  in  reality  always  despised. 

"  Lower  your  demands  a  little,  Timm,"  he  said,  in  a 
subdued  voice.  "  I  must  confess  it  is  a  matter  of  the 
very  greatest  importance  for  me  to  bury  the  whole  aifair 
in  silence,  and  if  it  depended  on  myself  alone  I  might 
not  be  unwilling  to  pay  you  the  sum  which  you  de- 
mand. But  you  know  my  aunt,  and  you  know  that  she 
would  rather  let  matters  go  on  to  the  last  point  than  to 
make  such  an  enormous  sacrifice.  I  tell  you,  Timm,  it 
can't  be  done;  upon  my  word,  it  can't  be  done.  And 
what  do  you  want  with  so  much  money  at  once .''  You  will 
lose  it  in  a  few  unlucky  nights  at  roulette,  and  then  you 
are  poorer  than  you  ever  were  before.  Come,  now,  I'll 
make  you  an  offer.  We  will  pay  you  for  one  year  four 
hundred  dollars  a  month,  and  at  the  end  of  the  year  six 
thousand  dollars  in  a  lump." 

"Altogether  ten  thousand  eight  hundred  dollars," 
replied  Albert.  "Won't  do;  and  besides,  what  security 
can  you  give  me  that  all  the  payments  will  be  made.''  " 

"  The  documents,  which  in  the  mean  time  you  may 
retain  in  your  possession  and  which  you  are  not  expect- 
ed to  hand  over  till  the  six  thousand  dollars  are  paid." 

"Well!"  said  Albert,  "it  is  not  much;  but  among 
good  friends  we  ought  not  to  insist  too  strictly.  I  ac- 
cept." 

"  Let  us  make  it  out  in  writing." 

"  Why.?  If  we  do  not  wish  to  keep  our  word,  we'll 
break  it,  anyhow ;  and  besides,  a  paper  of  that  kind 
might,  if  it  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  wrong  per- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  145 

son,  commit  the  family  of  Grenwitz  more  seriously  than 
they  would  like,  and  would,  after  all,  but  put  one  more 
Weapon  in  my  hands.     You  se^  I  am  perfectly  candid." 

" Bon!  "  said  Felix.  "  Do  you  want  the  first  four  hun- 
dred at  once?  " 

"  I  should  think  so." 

Felix  rose,  took  one  of  the  lights,  and  went  to  a 
bureau  which  was  standing  back  in  the  room,  opened 
a  drawer,  took  a  few  packages  of  bank-notes  from  it  and 
placed  them  on  the  table  before  Albert. 

"  Covmt  them  !  " 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  said  Albert,  slipping  the  parcel 
into  his  pocket ;  "  your  aunt  never  makes  a  mist-ake  in 
counting.  Well,  Grenwitz,  that  matter  is  nicely  ar- 
ranged ;  now  let  us  have  a  bottle  of  wine  upon  it — I 
have  talked  so  much  I  am  quite  thirsty.  If  you  permit 
me  I  will  ring  the  bell." 

"  Pray  do  so  !  " 

Felix  ordered  the  servant  who  came  to  bring  a  bottle 
of  Hock  and  two  glasses. 

Felix  was  rather  pleased  to  see  that  Albert  was  in  bet- 
ter humor ;  he  had  another  question  to  ask  yet,  which 
no  one  could  answer  as  well  as  he  could. 

"  You  have  seen,  Timm,"  he  said,  filling  the  glasses, 
"  that  I  have  met  you  half  Avay,  as  far  as  I  could.  One 
service  is  worth  another.     Will  you  do  me  a  favor .''  " 

"  Let  us  hear." 

"Then  tell  me,  how  is  little  Marguerite.''" 

"  What  interest  have  you  in  her.'  " 

"  Well,  I  do  have  an  interest  in  her." 

"And  why  do  you  think  I  know  anything  about 
her .' " 

"  Because  I  have  observed  you  both  at  Grenwitz,  and 
besides — well,  for  divers  other  reasons." 

"  For  instance  .''  " 

"  I  will  be  frank  with  you.  From  sheer  ennui  I  had 
begun  at  Grenwitz  already  to  pay  her  some  attentions, 
and  afterwards,  during  my  sickness,  I  saw  still  more  of 
the  little  thing,  till  it  ended  in  my  thinking  the  girl 
really  very  charming  and  prodigiously  attractive.  But 
she  pretended  to  be  so  very  reserved  that  I  suspected 
7 


146  Through  Night  to  Light. 

at  once  she  had  a  serious  attachment.  Now  I  cannot 
think  of  any  one  else  who  could  have  been  in  my  way 
but  yourself." 

"  Very  complimentary,"  said  Albert.  "  I  am,  indeed, 
as  good  as  engaged  to  the  young  lady." 

"  But,  Timm,  are  you  going  to  run  into  your  ruin 
with  your  eyes  open  .?  You  and  a  wife  !  and  worse  than 
that,  a  poor  wife ! — what  has  become  of  your  former 
principles  ?  Upon  my  word,  I  should  not  have  thought 
you  could  be  so  mad." 

"  Nor  I,  myself,"  replied  Albert,  emptying  his  glass 
and  filling  it  again. 

"  Are  you  in  love  with  the  girl }  " 

"  There  you  ask  me  more  than  I  know  myself." 

"  Look  here,  Timm,  I  will  make  you  an  offer.  We 
are,  it  seems,  in  the  way  of  speculating.  Let  me  have 
the  girl^and  I  assume  the  three  hundred  dollars  which 
you  have  borrowed  from  the  poor  little  thing." 

"Who  says  so.?"  said  Albert,  furiously. 

"Your  fury  just  now,  for  one;  besides  that,  however, 
little  Louisa,  Helen's  maid,  and  my  own  man's  lady  love, 
who  happened  to  see  it,  when  Marguerite  gave  you  the 
money  in  the  park  at  Grenwitz." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Albert,  who  could  not  repress  his 
anger  at  this  inconvenient  exposure. 

"  Don't  be  angry !  "  said  Felix;  "rather  be  glad  that 
you  find  somebody  who  is  willing  to  relieve  you  of  this 
troublesome  burden.     What  do  you  say.?" 

"  We  will  talk  about  that  another  time,"  said  Albert, 
rising  and  taking  his  hat.     "Farewell,  Grenwitz." 

"  Good-by,  Timm !  Be  reasonable,  and  come  and  see 
your  old  comrade  as  soon  as  you  can." 

The  worthy  pair  shook  hands,  and  Albert  went  away 
rapidly.  Hisface  was  darker  than  when  became.  Either 
the  second  part  of  the  conversation  had  not  been  to  his 
taste,  or  he  thought  it  good  policy  to  assume  an  air  of 
being  offended.  Felix,  who  knew  him  pretty  well  from 
former  days,  was  disposed  to  take  the  Litter  view. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  147 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

ABOUT  the  same  time,  and  while  these  transactions 
Avere  going  on  in  the  Grenwitz  mansion,  a  young 
man  was  impatiently  walking  up  and  down  in 
front  of  a  large  house  in  one  of  the  suburbs  of  Grun- 
wald.  His  impatience  looked  very  much  like  that  of  an 
honest  lover  who  is  waiting  on  a  cool  autumn  evening 
in  a  dense  fog  for  the  lady  of  his  heart,  whom  he  has 
orders  to  call  for  "punctually  at  seven,  but  be  sure  to  be 
punctual,"  to  see  her  home  from  a  little  party,  and  whom 
he  sees  at  half-past  seven  sitting  near  the  brightly- 
lighted-up  window,  engaged  in  most  lively  conversation. 
It  may  be  he  sees  really  her  whom  he  loves;  it  maybe 
the  shadow  belongs  to  a  very  different  person.  ■-• 

The  young  man  is  Doctor  Braun;  the  house  before 
which  he  patrols,  Leporello-fashion,  is  the  famous  board- 
ing-school of  Miss  Bear  ;  and  the  young  lady  for  whom 
he  is  waiting  is  his  betrothed  Sophie,  the  only  child  of 
the  privy  councillor  and  professor.  Doctor  Roban,  a 
physician  of  great  renown  in  Grunwald,  and  a  distin- 
guished member  of  the  university. 

"  What  a  vague  idea  of  time  even  the  cleverest  of 
women  have!"  murmured  Franz,  pulling  out  his  watch 
and  looking  at  it  by  the  faint  light  of  a  badly-burning 
cigar;  "it  is  a  psychological  fact  which  I  must  treat  of 
one  of  these  days  in  a  monograph." 

He  throws  away  the  short  end  of  his  cigar,  which 
threatened  to  singe  his  moustache,  and  looks  once  more 
up  at  the  lighted-up  window. 

"  Heaven  be  thanked,  they  are  getting  ready  !  Dark 
shadows  are  flitting  to  and  fro  near  the  curtains  !  Now 
for  the  cloak,  and  the  bonnet — a  kiss  to  say  good-by — 
then  a  little  bit  of  a  chat  of  ten  minutes  about  the  next 
place  of  meeting — then  another  farewell  kiss.  The  win- 
dow is  looking  darker ;  there  is  a  light  in  the  hall ;  now 
a  final  discussion  on  the  steps — enfiii!" 

"Do  you  come  at  last,  ma  viignonne7"  said  Doctor 
Braun,  greeting  the  slight  maidenly  form  who  had  come 


148  Through  Night  to  Light. 

out  of  the  house,  and  now  hastened  with  light  steps 
across  the  little  garden  which  divided  the  house  from 
the  street,  to  the  iron  gate. 

"  Poor  Franz  !  You  have  not  been  waiting  for  me," 
answers  the  girl,  affectionately  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
her  betrothed. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all !  Nothing  to  speak  of!  Half  an  hour 
or  so !  " 

"  I  really  did  not  know  it  was  so  late.  The  time 
passed  so  quickly,  although  the  whole  party  consisted 
only  of  two  persons.     Can  you  guess  who  they  were .''  " 

"  Yourself,  probably,  for  one." 

"  Very  well — and  the  other.?  " 

"Helen  Grenwitz." 

"  Exactly !  She  sends  you  her  best  regards.  Only 
think,  she  will  probably  stay  with  the  Great  Bear, 
although  her  friends  are  coming  to  town  for  the  winter, 
if  they  have  not  already  come  to-day.  That  will  be  a 
fine  subject  for  gossip.  Poor  Helen !  I  pity  her  with 
all  my  heart !  " 

"Why.?" 

"  How  can  you  ask .?  Is  it  not  bad  enough  that  the 
whole  town  will  ask  why  a  girl  of  sixteen — no,  sixteen 
and  a  half — should  be  sent  back  to  school  when  she  has 
hardly  been  four  weeks  at  home .?  And  as  long  as  the 
Grenwitz  family  was  not  living  in  town,  there  might 
have  been  some  explanation ;  but  now — oh,  I  think  it  is 
abominable.  People  must  think  of  her — I  don't  know 
what ;  and  it  is  not  so  much  to  be  wondered  at  if  they 
connect  Helen  in  some  way  or  other  with  the  duel  fought 
by  her  cousin  and  your  amiable  friend,  Stein." 

"And  what  says  Miss  Helen.?  " 

"  Nothing !  You  know  how  she  is.  She  never  speaks 
of  family  matters ;  at  most  she  occasionally  mentions 
her  father,  whom  she  seems  to  love  most  tenderly.  She 
is  quiet  and  serious;   but  not  exactly  sad." 

"  I  believe  she  is  much  too  proud  ever  to  be  really 
sad." 

"  How  so .?  " 

"  Sadness  is  a  passive  disposition ;  the  disposition  of 
one  who  sees  that  he  cannot  struggle  with  fate,  and 


Through  Night  to  Light.  149 

therefore  submits  to  endure  it  as  well  as  he  cart.  But 
there  are  cliaracters  which  resist  as  long  as  it  is  possi- 
ble, and  when  nothing  more  can  be  done,  instead  of  lay- 
ing down  their  arms,  break  them  to  pieces  and  throw 
them  fiercely  at  the  victor's  feet." 

Sophie  came  up  closer  to  her  betrothed  and  said,  after 
a  pause : 

"  I  am  not  one  of  those  characters,  Franz.  I  am  not 
too  proud  to  be  sad ;  I  have  been  very  often  sad  these 
last  days.  I  was  sad  when  you  left  us  with  Doctor 
Stein,  although  at  that  time  I  had  no  particular  reason 
for  being  so.  But  since  then,  when  papa  was  taken  sick 
and  I  sat  by  his  bedside,  and  my  greatest  anxiety — next 
to  that  about  papa's  life — was  whether  you  had  received 
my  letter  .  .  .  You  might  have  travelled  on  and  on,  and 
my  heart  was  all  the  time  breaking  with  longing  for 
you !  You  went  to  see  him,  I  am  sure,  before  you  came 
to  call  for  me  at  Miss  Bear's." 

"  Of  course  !  He  is  better.  I  begged  him  to  lie  down, 
but  he  insisted  upon  sitting  up  till  we  should  come 
back." 

"  And  I  have  wasted  so  much  time !     Let  us  go  faster !  " 

"  A  few  minutes,  more  or  less,  do  not  matter ;  and  be- 
sides, I  should  like  to  speak  with  you  definitely  about 
our  future.  We  must  at  last  make  an  end  to  this  pro- 
visional state,  which  is  pleasant  to  no  one — not  to  God 
— I  mean  Nature — nor  to  man — and  is  daily  becoming 
more  oppressive.  An  unmarried  man  is  a  fish ;  but  an 
engaged  man  is  neither  fish  nor  flesh.  When  two  people 
are  in  their  own  heart  and  conscience  man  and  wife 
through  their  mutual  love,  they  ought  to  be  man  and 
wife  also  in  the  Avorld,  before  men,  provided  circum- 
stances admit  of  their  marr\ung.  Now,  that  is  the  case 
with  us.  We  have  enough  for  our  support,  and  for  the 
present  we  need  no  more  ;  whatever  else  may  be  neces- 
sary Avill  come.  In  short,  shall  we  have  our  wedding 
day  four  weeks  from  to-day.'  " 

"  But,  Franz,  I  have  not  finished  half  of  my  trous- 
seau !  " 

"  Then  we'll  marry  with  half  a  trousseau." 

"  And  what  will  papa  say.?    You  know  how  very  hard 


150  Through  Night  to  Light. 

it  is  for  him  to  let  me  go  from  him ;  and  shall  I  just  now 
ask  such  a  sacrifice  from  him,  when  he  needs  me  more 
than  ever  ?  I  have  not  the  courage  to  propose  it  to 
him." 

"  But  I  have  it ;  your  father  knows  that  I  am  not  less 
anxious  for  your  happiness  than  he  is,  and  he  is  far  too 
sensible  not  to  see  that  my  plan  is  the  best.  Come,  my 
darling,  don't  hang  your  head.  To-day  four  weeks  vre 
are  man  and  wife." 

"  Ah,  Franz  !  I  Avish  it  could  be  so.  Bvit  I  fear,  I  fear, 
Heaven  does  not  mean  it  so  well  with  us !  " 

"  Why  not  .-*  Heaven  means  it  well  with  all  who  have 
the  courage  to  determine  upon  their  own  happiness.  For, 
how  says  the  poet :  '  In  our  bosom  are  the  stars  of  our 
fate.'  " 

The  haste  with  which  Franz  pressed  her  had  a  very 
good  motive  in  the  illness  of  her  father.  Franz,  as  a 
physician,  knew  best  that  the  life  of  the  excellent  man 
was  hanging  on  a  very  slender  thread.  He  had  rallied 
quickly  enough  from  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  which  had 
attacked  him  a  fortnight  ago,  but  several  bad  symptoms 
announced  that  another  attack  was  not  improbable,  and 
with  his  nervous,  very  delicately-organized  system,  this 
was  likely  to  be  fatal.  But  if  the  father  died  before  his 
daughter  had  been  married,  the  poor  girl  would  have 
been  placed  in  a  very  painful  position,  as  her  mother 
had  been  dead  for  many  years,  and  she  had  neither 
brothers  and  sisters  nor  any  near  relations.  The  world 
with  its  prejudices  would  have  hardly  been  willing  to 
admit  that  under  such  circumstances  her  only  home 
should  be  in  the  house  of  the  man  whom  she  loved,  but 
would  have  been  inconceivably  shocked  if  the  daughter 
had  married  "  before  the  shoes  were  worn  out  in  which 
she  had  followed  her  father's  funeral."  The  whole  city 
would  have  broken  out  in  one  cry  of  indignation  against 
such  a  fearful  crime  against  decency  and  propriety. 

Sophie  loved  her  father  with  a  love  which  bordered 
upon  enthusiasm,  little  as  enthusiasm  generally  formed 
a  part  of  her  clear  and  sensible  character,  which  shrank 
iuLitinctively  from  all  exaggeration.  And  the  father  was 
well  worthy  of  such  love. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  151 

The  privy  councillor,  Roban,  was  a  man  of  rare  dis- 
tinction in  many  respects.  As  a  man  of  science  he 
stood  very  high ;  he  was  considered  the  very  first  pa- 
thologist in  Germany.  But  a  remarkable  versatility  of 
mind  enabled  him  to  gather,  outside  of  the  studies  which 
his  profession  required,  information  upon  the  most  va- 
ried fields  of  knowledge,  and  to  attain  to  a  high  degree 
of  perfection  in  more  than  one  of  the  arts.  In  the 
morning  he  would  take  his  pupils,  hour  after  hour,  from 
bed  to  bed  in  the  hospital,  and  open  to  them  views  into 
the  innermost  workings  of  nature.  Then  again  he  would 
wander  for  long  hours  from  house  to  house,  soothing 
here  a  suft'erer's  pains,  comforting  others,  and  exhorting 
them  to  patient  endurance.  And  yet  in  the  evening, 
when  a  circle  of  intimate  friends  were  gathered  under 
his  hospitable  roof,  he  would  be  ready  to  take  an  active 
part  in  an  animated  conversation  about  art,  literature, 
or  politics,  or  perhaps  take  his  favorite  instrument,  the 
violoncello,  between  his  knees,  and  delight  even  the  best 
cultivated  ears  by  his  correct  and  yet  deeply-felt  playing 
in  a  quickly-improvised  quartette. 

Where  there  are  lights  there  must  be  shadows,  and 
where  there  are  shadows  there  is  never  a  lack  of  people 
who  take  pleasure  in  painting  everything  in  the  darkest 
and  blackest  of  colors.  Thus  it  was  with  the  little  foibles 
of  the  excellent  man,  which  his  rivals  and  enemies  sub- 
jected to  pitiless  criticism.  Some  declared  he  was  a 
charlatan,  who  understood  his  business  tolerably  well, 
but  the  necessary  bragging  and  boasting  about  it  still 
better ;  others  declared  his  bon-mots  Avere  better  than 
his  prescriptions,  and  a  good  story  more  welcome  to  him 
than  the  most  famous  case  in  his  practice.  Still  others 
said  that  the  essence  of  his  nature  was  a  restless  vanity, 
whch  induced  him  to  try  all  the  arts  and  to  play  the 
Maecenas  for  all  travelling  artists  and  spoilt  men  of 
genius.  Still  others — so-called  practical  men,  who  laid 
no  claim  to  any  opinion  in  matters  of  art  and  science, 
but  who  demanded  in  return  that  everybody  should 
comply  with  their  standard  of  morality — shook  their 
heads  when  people  spoke  of  the  councillor's  hospitality, 
and  said :  "  If  everybody  would  sweep  the  dust  before 


152  Through  Night  to  Light. 

his  own  door,  many  things  would  be  seen  that  are  hid- 
den now ;  and  if  certain  folks  would  remember  the  old 
saying :  '  Save  in  time  and  you'll  have  in  need,'  they 
would  be  better  off  than  they  were." 

Of  all  these  reproaches  none  really  affected  the  dis- 
tinguished professor,  except  the  last.  Money  was  to 
him  what  it  is  to  Saladin  in  Lessing's  great  drama, 
Nathan:  "  the  most  trifling  of  trifles;  "  he  looked  upon  it, 
as  Saladin  did,  as  "perfectly  superfluous  when  he  had  it," 
much  as  he  appreciated  the  necessity  of  being  provided 
with  it  whenever  he  was  reminded  of  it  by  his  liberality, 
his  generosity,  and  his  intense  antipathy  against  all  bar- 
gaining and  all  haggling.  If  he  had  lived  economically 
he  might  have  become  a  very  rich  man,  for  his  income 
was  considerable  ;  but  Mammon  would  not  stay  in  his 
hands,  which  were  ever  open  to  all  who  Avere  poor  and 
suffering.  He  never  could  force  himself  to  accept  money 
from  the  hard  hand  of  a  mechanic,  even  if  the  sum  had 
been  ever  so  small.  "  It  is  bad  enough,"  he  used  to  say, 
"that  Nature  has  not  wisdom  enough  to  allow  only 
such  people  to  be  sick  as  have  leisure  and  money 
enough  for  it ;  but  for  the  poor,  sickness  itself  is  a  pun- 
ishment severe  enough,  not  to  sentence  them  moreover 
into  the  payment  of  costs."  Thus  it  happened  to  him  very 
often  that  he  poured  the  golden  reward  he  had  earned 
by  his  attention  and  his  skill  in  the  palace  of  rich  Sin- 
bad  a  few  minutes  later  into  the  open  hand  of  poor 
Hinbad,  and  reached  home  with  a  lighter  purse  than  he 
had  carried  out. 

His  house  also  was  an  expensive  one,  although  the 
whole  family  consisted  but  of  himself  and  his  daughter. 
A  nature  as  richly  endowed  and  as  productive  as  his  own 
was  not  made  to  be  content  with  meagre  fare  and  thin 
beer ;  he  was  fond  of  rich,  savory  dishes  and  fiery  old 
wines  ;  above  all  he  loved  to  share  the  pleasures  of  his 
table  with  others  who  were  as  willing  to  be  pleased  as 
he  himself  with  the  good  things  of  this  world,  and  es- 
pecially with  one  of  the  best  among  the  good — a  pleasant 
table-talk. 

All  this  might  have  been  accomplished  without  caus- 
ing a  deficit  in  the  budget  of  the  privv  councillor,  if 


Through  Night  to  Light.  153 

a  careful,  sensible  housewife  had  managed  the  whole, 
and  spent  what  was  coming  in  properly  and  economi- 
cally. His  wife,  however,  an  exceedingly  amiable,  in- 
telligent woman,  died  the  second  year  after  their  mar- 
riage; and  her  husband,  who  had  loved  her  above  all 
things,  covild  not  summon  resolution  to  fill  the  place 
in  his  heart  which  death,  inexorable  death,  had  made 
vacant,  and  to  give  a  stepmother  to  his  daughter,  in 
whom  he  soon  concentrated  all  his  affections.  He  re- 
membered too  well  the  old  saying,  apiid  novercam  qiieri ! 
He  had  seen  the  fairy  tale  of  Cinderella  repeat  itself  in 
too  many  families.  Thus  he  left  his  child  in  the  hands 
of  nurses  and  governesses  whom  he  paid  magnificently, 
and  sent  her,  when  she  was  old  enough,  to  Miss  Bear's 
boarding-school,  in  case  anything  should  have  been  for- 
gotten in  her  outward  polish  or  her  inner  cultvire.  In 
the  meantime  he  kept  a  kind  of  bachelor's  hall,  which 
soon  became  a  very  costly  life,  owing  to  the  thievish- 
ness  of  his  servants  and  the  incapacity  of  a  housekeeper 
in  whom  he  placed  implicit  confidence.  He  comforted 
himself,  however,  whenever  Mrs.  Bartsch  had  forced  him 
into  a  very  uncomfortable  discussion  about  credit  and 
debt,  with  the  prospect  of  the  time  when  his  daughter 
could  relieve  him  of  all  this  mishre,  and  of  the  answer 
to  the  question  :  what  shall  ,we  have  for  dinner,  etc., 
which  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  trouble  a  good  Chris- 
tian's peace  of  mind. 

The  time  came  at  last,  but  Miss  Sophie's  return  to  the 
paternal  home  did  not  exactly  mend  matters.  Sophie 
was  too  young  and  too  inexperienced  to  see  the  cause 
of  the  evil  and  to  reform  the  abuses,  w^hich  were  deeply 
rooted  after  so  many  years'  toleration.  Mrs.  Bartsch, 
who  could  not  adapt  herself  at  all  to  the  new  regime, 
was  dismissed,  it  is  true;  but — as  the  doctor  said,  "the 
bad  one  is  gone,  the  bad  ones  have  stayed" — the  ser- 
vants stole  just  as  before,  and  the  privy  councillor  did 
not  know  yet  "  what  in  all  the  world  could  have  become 
of  the  miserable  money.''  "  As  it  could  not  well  be  oth- 
erwise under  such  circumstances,  the  accounts  agreed 
less  and  less  every  year,  and  instead  of  saying,  "  I  must 
learn  to  be  more  economical  hereafter,"  he  only  said,  "  I 
9* 


154  Through  Night  to  Light. 

must  work  harder."  He  felt  himself  yet  in  the  full 
vigor  of  his  strength.  He  saw  before  him  yet  long  years 
of  energetic  activity,  during  which  he  might  make  up 
what  had  been  so  long  neglected. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  so,  and  the  beautiful  fruit-bearing 
tree,  in  whose  broad,  hospitable  shade  so  many  who  suf- 
fered from  the  burning  heat  of  life  sought  shelter  and 
refreshment,  and  found  it  too,  was  to  be  irreparably  in- 
jured by  a  flash  of  lightning  which  fell  from  a  clear 
sky.  Like  wildfire  the  news  flew  one  morning  all  over 
town  that  Privy  Councillor  Roban  had  had  a  stroke  of 
paralysis  over  night,  and  was  now  laid  up  without 
hope.  People  told  it  one  to  another  with  grave  faces, 
and  said  it  would  be  an  irreparable  loss  to  science,  es- 
pecially as  far  as  the  university  was  concerned,  which 
had  had  in  Roban  its  only  really  great  man  since  Ber- 
ger  had  become  insane.  But  of  all  who  suffered  by  the 
loss,  the  poor  were  most  seriously  threatened,  since  they 
lost  in  the  privy  councillor  their  generous  friend  and 
protector.  For  many  and  many  a  day  one  might  have 
seen  old  women  dragging  themselves  painfully  along  on 
crutches,  men  so  old  and  feeble  that  they  had  to  be  led  by 
a  boy,  young  pale  mothers  with  a  baby  in  their  bosom — 
all  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  house,  bathed  in  tears,  and 
asking  every  one  who  came  out  whether  things  were 
not  going  a  little  better  with  the  privy  councillor,  or 
whether  there  was  really  no  hope  at  all  that  the  good 
old  gentleman  would  recover.? 

In  the  meantime  the  patient  Avas  lying  in  that  terrible 
state  which  is  neither  night  nor  day,  but  a  painful  twi- 
light, Avhen  the  sun  is  about  to  set,  and  the  darkness  is 
rising  full  of  threatenings  on  all  sides.  For  a  long  time 
it  remained  uncertain  Avliether  life  or  death  would  be  the 
end,  and  when  at  last  the  cruel  conflict  was  decided  in 
favor  of  life,  death  only  yielded  after  having  marked  his 
victim  unmistakably  forever.  One  might  even  have 
said,  that  he  had  taken  all  the  reality  away  with  it,  and 
left  only  the  shadow  of  existence. 

To-day  was  the  first  time  that  the  privy  councillor 
had  risen  for  a  few  hours;  they  had  rolled  him  in  his 
large  easy-chair  from  his  bed-chamber,  before  the  fire- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  '  155 

place  in  the  sitting-room.  He  had  insisted  upon  it  that 
his  daughter,  who  since  the  beginning  of  his  sickness 
had  scarcely  left  his  bed,  shoidd  go  out  to  her  little 
party;  and  he  had  dismissed  his  son-in-law,  "who  had 
taken  his  practice  provisionally  in  hand  and  came  to 
see  him  every  evening — for  he  wished  to  be  alone.  He 
felt  the  necessity  of  availing  himself  of  the  first  hour  in 
which  the  pressure  on  his  brain  was  less  overwhelming, 
for  the  purpose  of  thinking  over  his  situation.  As  a  pliy- 
sician,  he  would  probably  have  warned  his  patient  against 
such  an  injurious  excitement;  but  now  he  was  physi- 
cian and  patient  at  once,  and  made  the  experience  in 
himself  that  the  physician  may  very  often  demand  cer- 
tain things  which  the  patient  is  unable  to  do  with  the 
best  will  in  the  world. 

Poor,  unfortunate  man  ;  doubly  and  trebly  poor,  be- 
cause you  have  been  doubly  and  trebly  rich  and  happy 
before,  in  the  fulness  of  your  mental  and  physical 
strength,  in  the  elasticity  of  your  sanguine  temper,  nay 
even  in  the  easy  humor  whicla  bore  you  like  a  bird  high 
over  the  greatest  difficulties  !  Where  is  now  your  restless 
activity,  Avhich  formerly  made  it  impossible  for  you  to 
sit  still  in  one  and  the  same  place  for  any  length  of  time, 
which  induced  you  even  at  table  frequently  to  change 
your  place  among  your  guests.'  Where  is  your  sharp, 
penetrating  mind,  which  used  to  solve  the  hardest  prob- 
lems as  in  play.?  Where  your  brilliant  fancy,  which 
threw  even  upon  every-day  occurrences  a  bewitching 
light }  Where,  above  all,  your  Olympian  cheerfulness, 
which  made  it  so  easy  for  you  not  to  be  angry  or  ex- 
cited, but  alloAved  you  to  fight  at  most  with  a  humorous 
smile  and  satirical  wit  against  the  misery  and  wretch- 
edness of  life,  against  the  stupidity  and  vulgarity  of  men } 
Where  are  the  thousand  arguments  with  which  you  often 
nearly  overwhelmed  the  pessimist  views  of  your  friend 
Berger,  when  you  tried  to  persuade  him  that  this 
earth  was  by  no  means  a  vale  of  tears  from  the  rising 
to  the  setting  of  the  sun,  but  a  wide,  fair  landscape,  in 
which  hill  and  dale,  waste  deserts  and  Elysian  fields  al- 
ternated very  wisely,  and  that  in  most  cases  man  was 
not  only  at  liberty  but  even  commanded"  to  avoid  the  one 


156  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  to  enjoy  the  other?  Have  you  all  at  once  changed 
your  views  ?  Has  a  brutal  blow  of  fate  suddenly  reduced 
you  in  the  discussion  to  an  absic7-dum  ?  Has  the  pres- 
sure which  weighs  on  your  brain  and  paralyzes  the 
elasticity  of  your  mind  transformed  you  all  of  a  sudden 
from  an  optimist  into  a  pessimist,  so  that  you  see  the 
world  and  your  own  situation  in  dark  colors,  as  you  are 
counting  the  beats  of  your  pulse  mechanically,  and  sit 
there,  rolled  in  a  ball  in  your  easy-chair,  glaring  in  dull 
thoughts  at  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire-place  ? 

And  indeed  there  were  reasons  w^hy  it  was  hard  for 
the  privy  councillor  to  drive  away  the  gray  shadowy 
form  of  care,  as  it  pressed  more  and  more  closely  upon 
him  the  darker  the  room  grew..  He  who  had  himself 
observed  so  many  similar  cases,  could  least  of  all  dis- 
guise from  himself  how  precarious  his  physical  condi- 
tion was.  He  knew  but  too  well  that  he  was  doomed 
to  be  henceforth  a  cripple  in  body  and  mind,  that  he 
was  only  a  pensioner  on  life,  and  that  death  might  come 
at  any  moment  to  collect  the  debt  which  was  long  since 
due.  And  yet,  much  as  he  was  attached  to  life,  this  was 
his  least  sorrow.  The  physician  did  not  struggle  against 
omnipotent  fate,  whigh  had  never  yet  granted  him  one 
of  its  victims  ;  the  pupil  of  Epicure  knew  that  joy  and 
grief,  delight  and  suffering,  are  inseparably  interwoven 
in  our  life.  But  what  made  his  heart  particularly  heavy, 
was  the  thought  of  his  inability  to  arrange  his  circum- 
stances, that  he  should  have  to  leave  life  a  bankrupt,  and 
that  after  all  he  should  have  to  rob  his  creditors  of  their 
rights  by  his  death.  Had  he  not  always  referred  them 
to  the  future,  and  now  the  future  refused  to  accept  the 
draft ;  now  the  credulous  man  was  to  be  denied  credit 
at  the  very  bank  on  whose  credit  he  had  so  implicitly 
relied. 

The  unfortunate  man  sighed,  hiding  his  deep-bowed 
head  in  his  hands. 

And  his  daughter,  his  darling  daughter !  Where  was 
now  the  hope  he  had  cherished  to  endow  her  with  a  for- 
tune which  was  forever  to  free  the  spoilt,  tender  child 
from  all  the  vulgar  cares  of  life  .'*  which  was  to  afford 
her  the  means  always  to  enjoy  a  comfortable  existence, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  157 

such  as  alone  seemed  to  be  suitable  for  the  character  of 
the  young  girl  ?  Now  he  could  not  only  leave  her  no 
fortune — no !  but  not  even  an  honest,  stainless  name  ! 

She  liad  no  idea  of  the  painful  pecuniary  situation 
of  her  father.  He  never  had  the  courage  to  trouble  her 
childlike  mind  with  cares  which  he  tried  to  keep  from 
himself  as  long  as  he  could.  She  took  it  for  granted  that 
her  father  was,  if  not  a  rich  man,  at  least  well-to-do, 
and  that  she  could  enjoy  the  simple  comforts  by  which 
she  was  surrounded  with  a  clear  conscience. 

And  was  she  the  only  one  who  labored  under  this 
illusion,  and  whom  he  had  allowed  to  remain  blind  from 
fear  of  an  explanation  }  Did  not  his  friends  think  the 
same.?  Above  all,  the  youngest  and  dearest  of  his 
friends,  the  man  who  had  won  his  daughter's  heart,  and 
whom  he  himself  loved  with  hearty,  paternal  love ;  who 
deserved  such  friendship,  such  love,  by  his  upright,  noble 
bearing,  by  his  ability  and  his  goodness ;  what  would 
he  say,  what  would  he  do,  if  he  should  learn  what  sooner 
or  later  he  would  have  to  learn — nay,  what  the  father  of 
his  future  wife  was  under  such  circumstances  bound  to 
tell  him  without  further  delay,  if  he  did  not  mean  to 
renounce  all  claims  to  be  considered  an  honest  man  } 

The  privy  councillor  pressed  his  trembling  hands 
upon  his  eyes  and  groaned  loud,  like  one  who  is  suffer- 
ing cruel  torture. 

And  suddenly  he  felt  soft  arms  embracing  him,  and  a 
girl's  voice  asked  anxiously:  "  Papa,  dearest  papa,  you 
are  surely  sick  again ;  "  and  the  kindly,  firm  voice  of  a 
man  who  had  taken  his  hand  to  feel  the  pulse,  and  who 
now  said  :  "  You  have  stayed  up  too  long !  we  must  try 
and  get  you  into  bed  again." 

These  voices,  these  words,  fell  like  a  mild,  refreshing 
rain  falling  upon  a  sunburnt  plant,  upon  the  heart  of 
the  poor  man,  who  was  so  sick  in  body  and  soul.  He 
put  his  arms  around  the  slender  waist  of  his  daughter 
and  drew  her  to  his  heart  in  a  long,  silent  embrace. 
He  could  have  wept,  but  he  was  ashamed.  Sophie  asked 
again  and  again  if  he  felt  worse.  Franz,  who  had 
ordered  lights  to  be  brought  in,  begged  more  and  more 
urgently  that  he  should  not  risk  what  had  been  so  pain- 


j^g  Through  Night  to  Light. 

f.n,  gained  ^t^:;^:^  TQ^^^^^^'^^ 

les^ness'    he   exdtcmenl  of  his  patient,  considered  | 
lessnebb,  mu    v,  ^nchps  and  cave  a  nod  to  nis 

°"-^  wLTif  trrS-^^^"  t?'s  ^eat^;nTlilng 
chair   close  to  tire  privy  councillor  s   sea     ana   taK    „ 

•^'I'jrt 'r  "^s;Td\he%ri"T  °oStr-a„"?now  he 
roorrd'neS;  people,  -"i'h"-':  "S  •  XTh'e  S 

he  ext^ected  an  answer  from  Franz.     •^^^'^  ^'!,  >':"  ,^,  ^,_ 
BH^c:S-Sra^=nr^:nc^n^.?:S 

has  made  ,ne  1-si.ate  so  long  Ijf-^^ts"!? to  "fave  to 
nmnication  to  you.  «"' '' '^.  ''^  ,!,\j.  to  impoverish  a 
afflict  a  man  whom  we  love,  to  na\e  to  lu  j. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  159 

man  whom  wc  would  like  to  load  with  all  the  world  can 
give." 

He  paused,  and  tried  to  draw  his  hands  from  those  of 
the  young  man,  as  if  the  revelation  he  had  just  made  had 
interrupted  and  ended  their  friendship.  But  Franz 
moved  nearer  to  the  sufferer  and  said,  looking  at  him 
with  his  clear,  truthful,  bright  eyes  : 

"  I  have  let  you  finish,  my  dear  sir;  and  now  let  me 
have  my  say.  Suppose  a  man  were  to  give  the  friend 
he  loves  best  an  unspeakably  valuable  treasure,  a  trea- 
sure which  the  other  values  so  mvich  that  he  could  not 
live  without  it,  and  he  were  then  to  say  to  this  friend, 
'  My  dear,  while  I  was  guarding  this  treasure  I  had  not 
the  time,  as  you  may  readily  imagine,  to  attend  Avith 
proper  care  to  the  management  and  settlement  of  all 
my  other  aflTairs.  There  are  a  few  creditors  who  wnsh 
to  be  paid,  and  who  must  be  paid.  Will  you  take  that 
upon  yourself  .-^  You  are  younger  and  stronger,  and 
have  no  objection  to  business.'  Suppose,  I  say,  the 
giver  should  speak  thus  to  him  who  receives,  and  the 
latter  were  to  answer :  '  The  treasure  Avhich  is  to  make 
me  immeasurably  rich  for  all  time  to  come  I  am  ready 
to  take,  but  as  to  your  other  affairs  you  can  see  how 
you  can  manage  them  yourself.  I  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  them.'  Would  you  not  justly  look  upon  a  man 
who  could  give  such  an  answer  as  a  monster  of  heart- 
lessness,  as  a  horrible  instance  of  ingratitude .''  Exactly 
such  is  the  relation  in  which  we  stand  to  each  other. 
You  are  the  generous  donor ;  I  am  the  man  who  re- 
ceives the  costly  gift — the  immeasurably  precious  treasure 
itself  is  my  own  Sophie.  Between  us  there  can  be  no 
longer  any  question  of  mine  and  thine  ;  what  I  have 
is  yours,  for  you  are  to  me  all  in  all — my  friend,  my 
teacher,  and  my  father.  What  I  have  amounts  to  about 
ten  or  eleven  thousand  dollars,  left  me  by  an  aunt  whom 
I  have  never  seen  in  my  life,  and  they  are  entirely  at 
your  disposal.  I  know  that  this  sum  Avill  not  suffice 
to  free  you  from  all  responsibilities.  But  it  will  be  a 
relief  to  you,  a  help ;  and  I  beg,  I  conjure  you  to  make 
any  use  of  it  you  may  choose.  No,  my  dear  sir,  don't 
shake  your  head !     You  can't  help  it.     You  owe  it  to  me, 


i6o  Through  Night  to  Light. 

to  Sophie,  to  yourself,  not  to  refuse  me.  And  then,  1 
am  not  going  to  asl<;  you  to  do  tliis  favor  without  asking 
one  for  myself  in  return.  We  have  never  yet  agreed 
upon  the  day  for  our  wedding.  We  were  afraid  to  speak 
of  it,  because  w^e  feared  you  would  refuse,  or  at  least  give 
your  consent  only  with  reluctance.  Now  I  have  become 
bold,  and  ask  neither  for  Flanders  nor  for  liberty  to  think, 
Oh,  King  Philip,  but  for  your  permission  to  make  your 
daughter,  Doiia  Sophie,  my  wife,  this  day  four  weeks. 
Look!  there  she  is  herself !  Kneel  down,  darling,  and 
thank  your  lord  and  father  for  his  kindness.  He  con- 
sents to  our  marriage  this  day  four  weeks." 

Sophie,  who  had  entered  the  room  during  the  last 
words  spoken  by  Franz,  hastened  to  her  father. 

"  Good,  dear  papa !  dearest  darling  of  a  papa !  "  she 
cried,  embracing  the  privy  councillor  and  kissing  him 
tenderly  on  brow  and  lip.  The  privy  councillor  was 
deeply  moved.  His  trembling  lips  tried  in  vain  to 
utter  a  word ;  his  tear-flooded  eyes  turned  now  towards 
his  daughter,  who  was  kneeling  before  him,  and  now 
towards  the  noble  man,  who  stood  by  his  side  leaning 
over  him  and  looking  at  him  with  tenderness.  His 
mind,  weakened  by  his  sickness,  could  not  at  once  over- 
come the  chaos  of  conflicting  thoughts,  but  in  his  heart 
he  heard  a  voice  assuring  him  that  he  could  die  now  in 
peace. 

Franz,  who  had  his  reasons  for  fearing  that  the  violent 
emotion  might  change  the  condition  of  the  patient  for 
the  worse,  hastened  to  make  an  end  to  the  scene.  He 
rang  the  bell  and  asked  the  servant  to  help  him  carry 
his  master  to  his  room.  The  privy  councillor  suff'ered 
them  to  do  as  they  chose.  Franz  and  the  servant  rolled 
the  chair  to  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room,  which  had 
been  opened  by  Sophie,  lifted  it  over  the  sill,  and  closed 
the  door  behind  them,  while  Sophie  remained  alone  in 
the  sitting-room. 

After  a  few  minutes  Franz  returned.  He  was  moved 
as  Sophie  had  never  yet  seen  him  ;  but  she  saw  also  that 
his  emotion  was  not  painful.  His  eyes  shone  briglitly, 
his  step  was  elastic  like  that  of  a  conqueror,  and  his 
voice,  generally  rather  sharp,  sounded  softer  and  fuller, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  i6i 

as  he  said,  folding  his  betrothed  almost  violently  in  his 
arms, 

"  Rejoice,  my  girl ;  all  goes  well,  excellently  well.  I 
have  Avon  your  father's  consent  by  gentle  means  and 
harsh  means.  Did  I  not  tell  you  we  should  be  man  and 
wife  four  weeks  hence.''  Did  I  not  tell  you,  'In  our 
heart  are  the  stars  of  our  fate  ? '  Oh,  I  feel  a  whole 
heaven  in  my  heart !  dear,  dear  Sophie  !  " 

"  Dear,  dear  Franz  !  " 

And  the  lovers  held  each  other  embraced  in  that  bliss 
for  which  the  ordinary  language  of  earth-born  men  has 
no  words. 

Then,  when  the  torrent  of  glorious  feelings  had  so- 
bered down  to  greater  quiet,  they  walked  up  and  down 
in  the  room,  arm  in  arm,  and  their  voices  grew  low  like 
their  steps  on  the  carpet,  and  what  they  whispered  to 
each  other  was  sweet  and  cozy,  like  the  dim  rosy  light 
of  the  lamp  under  its  veil,  and  yet  as  hot  and  as  glowing 
as  the  coals  shining  through  the  light  covering  of  ashes 
in  the  fire-place. 

It  was  a  lovely  pair,  the  two  lovers  ;  and  Zeus  of 
Obricoli,  whose  lordly  face  with  the  god-like  brow  be- 
neath the  ambrosiacal  curls  that  shade  Olympus,  looked 
majestically  down  upon  them  from  a  niche  in  the  wall, 
must  have  enjoyed  the  sight  as  they  Avalked  again  and 
again  past  his  bust,  although  neither  the  young  man  nor 
the  girl  could  lay  claim  to  a  beauty  exactly  classic. 
Their  tall  forms  were  too  lithe  for  that,  wanting  in  the  vo- 
luptuous fulness  of  the  Grecian  ideal ;  their  faces,  full  of 
expression,  were  wanting  in  that  architectural  regu- 
larity, that  indelible  antique  harmony,  which  knows  no 
struggle,  at  least  no  struggle  that  excites  the  soul  to  its 
innermost  depths. 

Sophie  Roban  had,  if  you  examined  her  strictly,  noth- 
ing that  could  be  called  beauty,  except  a  graceful,  deli- 
cate figure,  though  connoisseurs  would  have  objected 
to  her  arms  as  too  thin,  and  a  pair  of  large,  soft,  deep- 
blue  eyes,  of  which  connoisseur  and  ignoramus  spoke 
with  equal  delight.  Her  mouth  is  rather  large,  and  it 
is  fortunate  for  her  that  her  teeth,  which  are  in  conse- 
quence seen  very  frequently,  are,  if  not  literally  "  two 


1 62  Through  Night  to  Light. 

rows  of  pearls,"  at  least  beautifully  white  and  regular. 
The  cheeks  are  round  and  full,  the  nose  belongs  to  no 
special  category.  The  best  feature  of  the  whole  is,  prob- 
ably, next  to  the  large  blue  eyes,  the  abundance  of  chest- 
nut-brown hair,  which  forms  a  frame  of  soft  waves  for 
the  somewhat  low  but  smooth  and  most  intelligent 
brow,  and  is  very  artlessly  but  tastefully  arranged.  So- 
phie is  so  tall  that  Franz,  who  is  above  medium  size, 
scarcely  rises  a  head's  length  above  her — a  proof,  as 
Sophie  says,  that  she  has  some  claims  to  be  covinted 
among  Jean  Paul's  "  lofty  beings,"  an  opinion  which 
Franz  is  by  no  means  disposed  to  accept.  He  sa5'S,  on 
the  contrary,  that  she  falls  short,  if  not  in  everything, 
yet  in  much  of  that  great  honor,  especially  in  that  exu- 
berance in  thought  and  sentiment  which  the  author  re- 
quires for  "lofty  beings,"  and  of  which  Sophie  has  not  a 
trace,  unless  it  be  when  she  plays  on  the  piano,  and  the 
genius  of  Beethoven,  her  favorite  composer,  lends  her 
soul  the  wings  which  are  otherwise  wanting.  Franz 
mentions  besides,  in  his  diagnosis  of  his  betrothed,  a 
certain  cool  sobriety  of  view^s  and  jvidgments,  a  kind  of 
shyness  to  go  beyond  her  own  self,  and  a  mistrust  of 
all  who  do  not  possess  this  shyness  and  are  too  ready  to 
sing  their  own  praises  or  their  own  complaints,  with- 
out inquiring  whether  the  gods  have  given  them  a  tal- 
ent for  stating  what  they  suffer  or  not.  Sophie,  on  the 
contrary,  is  disposed  to  be  very  quiet  in  moments  of 
great  enjoyment  or  great  sorrow,  on  which  account 
Franz  prefers  classing  her  with  Jean  Paul's  "  silent 
children  of  heaven."  Besides,  he  attributes  to  Sophie 
the  following  qualities  and  peculiarities,  all  of  which  are 
more  or  less  imcompatible  with  the  character  of  "  lofty 
beings."  She  is  particularly  fond,  he  says,  of  canary 
birds,  dogs,  tree-frogs,  rabbits,  horses,  and  even  of  don- 
keys, which  evidently  shows  a  predilection  for  Dutch  pic- 
tures of  still  life ;  she  betrays  a  highly  improper  indif- 
ference for  literature,  unworthy  of  the  daughter  of  a 
man  of  science,  and  the  betrothed  of  a  man  who  may 
possibly  yet  become  famous  in  the  world;  she  will  not 
condescend  to  use  a  dictionary,  even  in  cases  of  neces- 
sity, Avhen  she  reads  French  or  English  authors ;  and  ns 


Through  Night  to  Light.  163 

to  the  productions  of  her  mother  tongue,  her  indiffer- 
ence is  so  great  that  she  has  actually  dared  to  fall  fast 
asleep  when  Franz  has  been  reading  to  her  aloud  the 
most  beautiful  chapters  from  Goethe's  Truth  and  Fiction 
or  his  Italian  Journey.  Then  she  has  a  decided  fancy 
for  putting  on  her  hat  on  one  side,  and  to  catch  her  dress 
when  walking  out  in  all  the  thorn-bushes  by  the  wayside, 
both  of  which  habits  indicate  a  dreamy,  twilight  life,  ut- 
terly incompatible  with  the  manner  of  "  lofty  beings." 
She  is  even  svispected  of  clairvoyance,  for  she  had 
actually  once  told  her  maid,  when  she  was  dressing  her 
for  a  ball  and  wanted  a  pin,  that  there  was  one  lying  way 
back  in  the  parlor  under  the  fourth  chair  from  the  win- 
dow. 

The  conversation  of  the  two  lovers  had  gradually 
approached  this  topic  of  the  little  weaknesses  of  his  be- 
trothed, which  Franz  was  apt  to  play  upon  in  countless 
variations.  He  had  a  talent  to  jest  gracefully,  and  to 
conceal  the  sober  face  of  a  well-meaning  preceptor  under 
the  smiling  mask  of  a  good-natured  but  ironical  critic. 
Sophie,  who  was  not  fond  of  ample  explanations,  felt 
grateful  to  her  lover  for  this  mode  of  instructing  her, 
and  Franz  adopted  this  method  all  the  more  readily  as 
it  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  admire  the  cleverness  and 
the  wit  with  which  Sophie  knew  how  to  defend  herself 
against  his  insidious  attacks,  and  to  deny  her  faults,  or 
even  to  pretend  that  they  were  in  reality  nothing  but 
very  lovable  virtues. 

They  were  so  deeply  engaged  in  their  now  serious 
and  now  sober  conversation,  which  was  occasionally 
interrupted  by  a  half-suppressed  laugh  or  a  stolen  kiss, 
that  a  person  who  was  in  the  habit  of  coming  every  day 
at  this  hour  to  the  privy  councillor's  house,  and  of  enter- 
ing unannounced,  had  to  knock  three  times  at  the  door 
before  they  answered  with  an  unisonous  "  Come  in  !  " 


164  Through  Night  to  Light. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"A~^OOD    evening,   most   honored    friends   and    be- 
VJ     trothed,"  said  he,  as  he  entered  the  room  ;  "  do  I 
disturb  your  devotions?  " 

"  Good  evening,  Bemperlein,"  replied  Sophie,  loosen- 
ing Franz's  hold  and  cordially  offering  her  hand  to  the 
little  man,  who  came  with  careful  steps  to  her  side ;  "you 
are  just  in  time  to  protect  me  against  this  arch-scorner." 

"Good  evening,  Bemperlein,"  said  Franz;  "you  are 
just  in  time  to  help  me  in  my  efforts  to  convince  this 
obstinate  sinner." 

"  Before  I  can  do  the  one,  and  not  the  other,"  replied 
Mr.  Bemperlein,  drawing  off  his  gloves  and  folding  them 
up  carefully,  "  I  beg  leave  to  inquire,  as  in  duty  bound, 
after  the  privy  councillor's  health." 

"  He  is  much  better,"  replied  Franz. 

"  I  hoped  so  from  your  joyous  disposition,"  said  Bem- 
perlein ;  "  well,  I  am  delighted.  Then  we  can  at  least 
take  our  supper  to-night  without  feeling  as  if  every 
morsel  would  stick  in  our  throats  from  sheer  melancholy 
and  mourning,  as  has  been  the  case  for  the  last  fortnight. 
Advocem  supper;  is  it  ready.  Miss  Sophie?  I — who  am 
not  lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  satisfy  my  hunger  with 
the  ambrosia  of  confidential  talk,  and  to  quench  my 
thirst  with  the  nectar  of  love — I  feel  an  unmistakable 
longing  after  earthly  food  and  drink." 

"  I  believe  supper  has  been  on  the  table  for  half  an 
hour,"  said  Sophie;  "  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it." 

"  Then  let  us  lose  no  more  time,"  said  Bemperlein, 
offering  Sophie  his  arm,  and  leading  her  the  familiar 
way  into  the  adjoining  room,  where  supper  was  regu- 
larly laid  out. 

Miss  Sophie  and  Mr.  Bemperlein  were  great  friends. 
The  excellent  man  had  at  every  epoch  of  his  life  found 
somebody  to  whom  he  could  offer  his  devotion  and  his 
love.  When  he  had  come  over  to  settle  in  Grunwald, 
he  had  felt  for  a  few  days  unspeakably  lonely  and 
wretched.     Unable  to  live  in  solitude,  and  full  of  child- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  165 

like  trust,  he  had  no  sooner  been  introduced  into  the 
house  of  Privy  Councillor  Roban  than  he  had  poured 
out  his  complaints  into  the  willing  ear  of  Miss  Sophie, 
whose  large  blue  eyes  encouraged  him  wonderfully. 
Sophie  had  not  only  listened  to  the  little,  lively  man, 
who  opened  his  whole  heart  to  her  with  Homeric  ndlvetfi, 
as  if  he  could  not  help  doing  so  ;  but  after  following  him 
with  great  attention  to  his  last  words ;  "  that  is  all 
over  now  !  over,  and  forever !  "  she  had  given  him  her 
hand  with  most  cordial  kindness,  saying :  "You  must 
come  and  see  us  very  often,  Mr.  Bemperlein,  Papa  is 
very  fond  of  you  and  so  am  I.  We'll  try  if  we  cannot 
make  some  amends  to  you  for  the  loss  of  BerkoAV." 

It  was  a  strange  friendship  that  bound  the  two  to 
each  other.  Sophie,  although  twelve  years  younger 
than  Bemperlein,  was  the  admonishing,  reproving,  di- 
recting mentor,  and  he  the  obedient,  attentive,  and  docile 
Telemachus.  She  had  aided  him  in  arranging  the 
modest  lodgings  which  he  had  rented  at  some  little 
distance  from  the  privy  covincillor's  house,  and  she 
made  with  him,  and  sometimes  without  him,  the  neces- 
sary purchases.  Her  attention  went  even  beyond  that. 
She  trained  him,  after  a  fashion,  for  his  entrance  into  so- 
cietv,  for  there  was  much  to  be  done.  She  made  him 
aware  that  it  was  not  exactly  the  thing  to  hold  gentle- 
men with  whom  he  conversed  continually  by  a  coat- 
button,  or  to  turn  his  back  persistently  upon  ladies  by 
whose  side  he  had  found  his  seat  at  table,  however  tedi- 
ous they  might  appear  in  his  eyes.  "  You  must  not  do 
this,  Bemperlein  !  You  must  stop  doing  that,  Bemper- 
lein !  "  the  young  lady  continually  said  to  him,  and  the 
good-natured  man  obeyed  her  implicitly,  and  was  but 
too  happy  and  proud  if  she  said  another  time,  "  Bem- 
perlein, that  was  well  done !  You  played  quite  the  cav- 
alier to-night,  Bemperlein  !  " 

Bemperlein  was  soon  even  fonder  of  Miss  Roban  than 
he  had  been  of  Frau  von  Berkow.  The  latter  remained, 
with  all  her  kindness  and  goodness,  after  all,  the  great 
lady,  the  benefactress,  the  mistress;  and  the  impression 
she  had  made  upon  him  when  he,  a  poor,  bashful,  awk- 
ward candidate  for  the  ministry,  had  arrived  one  sum- 


1 66  Through  Night  to  Light. 

mer  afternoon  at  Berkow,  and  been  presented  by  old 
Baumann  to  the  great  lady,  had  never  been  wholly  effaced 
in  the  seven  long  years  which  he  had  spent  at  her  house. 
But  Sophie  was  not  grand ;  she  laughed  as  heartily  as 
any  one  of  them  ;  she  looked  at  him  so  trustingly  with 
her  big,  blue  eyes;  she  made  no  pretensions;  you  could 
speak  to  her  as  to  an  equal,  you  could  love  her  like  a 
brother,  without  being  all  the  time  filled  w4th  awe  and 
reverence. 

And  such  paternal  love  Bemperlein  felt  for  the  hearty 
girl.  Even  if  she  had  not  been  already  engaged,  it  would 
never  have  occurred  to  him  to  fall  in  love  with  her.  But 
to  sympathize  with  all  that  interested  her ;  to  declare  that 
her  betrothed,  whose  acquaintance  he  made  soon  after- 
wards, was  the  most  amiable  and  excellent  of  men  ;  to 
render  her  any  service  which  he  could  read  in  her  eyes, 
and,  when  the  privy  councillor  was  ill,  to  watch  with 
her  till  Franz  shovdd  come  back,  day  and  night,  with 
womanly  patience  and  tenderness,  by  the  bedside  of  the 
sufferer ;  and  now,  when  he  heard  that  the  latter  was 
better,  to  rejoice  like  a  child  to  whom  a  father  is  re- 
stored, and  to  conceal  this  joy  under  a  hundred  innocent 
tricks  and  teasings — that  was  in  the  power  of  the  ex- 
candidate  of  divinity  and  actual  student  of  philosophy, 

Mr.  Anastasius  Bemperlein. 

%  -v.-  *  *  *  * 

"  I  fear  the  potatoes  are  cold,  "  said  Sophie,  raising 
"the  cover  off  the  dish. 

"  Then  they  have  exactly  the  temperature  of  this  fish," 
said  Franz,  presenting  her  his  dish. 

"  Or  of  this  sauce,"  said  Bemperlein,  handing  her  the 
sauce-dish  from  the  other  side. 

Sophie  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Nothing  is  eaten  quite  as  warm  as  it  is  cooked,  gen- 
tlemen.    I  must  know  that  best,  as  future  housewife  !  " 

"  For  we  are  to  be  married  in  four  weeks  from  to-day, 
Bemperlein,"  said  Franz ;  "  that  is  to  say,  if  your  dress- 
coat,  which  you  have  intended  to  order  ever  since  you 
first  came  to  Grunvvald,  can  be  ready  by  that  time,  Bem- 
perlein, otherwise  it  cannot  be." 

"  The  coat  shall  be  ready !     The  coat  shall  be  ready !  " 


Thfoi/gh  Alight  to  Light  167 

cried  Mr.  Bemperlein  ;    "  even  if  I  have  myself  to  cut  it 
out,  to  sew  it,  and  to  press  it." 

"That  would  make  a  nice  coat,  Bemperlein." 

"  Not  so  bad,  perhaps,  as  you  think.  At  all  events  it 
would  not  be  the  first  dress-coat  I  have  made  with  my 
own  hands." 

"  Impossible,  Bemperlein  !  "  cried  Franz,  with  amaze- 
ment. 
*  "  As  I  tell  you.  It  is  a  long  time  since,  to  be  sure — 
perhaps  fifteen  years;  and  I  was,  during  that  Robinson 
Crusoe  period  of  my  life,  much  more  inventive  and 
industrious  than  I  am  now ;  but  still  I  do  not  think  I 
should  find  it  impossible  even  now." 

"  But  how  did  you  come  to  make  such  a  funny  experi- 
ment? " 

"  Through  the  author  of  all  inventions — necessity. 
You  know,  Miss  Sophie,  that  I  belong  to  those  of  God's 
children,  or  rather  did  belong,  for  now  I  have  been  pro- 
moted to  another  class,  to  whom  the  heavenly  kingdom 
is  promised,  because  they  call  nothing  their  own  upon 
earth.  This  compelled  me,  when  I  left  the  Elysian 
fields  of  my  native  village  and  came  to  this  town,  to 
lead  a  life  like  a  cicade,  and  to  avoid  all  unnecessary 
expenses.  Thvis  it  occurred  to  me  also,  after  long  and 
painful  meditation,  that  it  might  be  feasible,  even  in 
this  century  of  ink-consumption,  to  manufacture  my 
own  clothes,  like  Eumaeus  of  old,  the  god-like  keeper 
of  swine.  No  sooner  thought  than  done.  I  had  formed 
a  great  intimacy  with  a  boy — his  name  was  Christian 
Sweetmilk,  the  son  of  the  old  tailor  Sweetmilk  in  Long 
street — who  was  to  be  a  tailor  and  wished  to  be  a  doc- 
tor. We  made  a  covenant  that  I  should  teach  him  every 
evening,  when  papa  Sweetmilk's  stentorian  voice  an- 
nounced the  closing  of  the  shop,  his  Latin  and  Greek 
grammar ;  while  he  in  return  should  instruct  me  in 
the  use  of  the  needle  and  the  goose.  Our  studies  were 
carried  on  with  equal  secrecy  and  industry,  for  I  had 
good  reason  to  fear  the  jibes  of  my  school-mates,  and 
he  the  never-missing  yard-stick  of  his  father  and  mas- 
ter. Oh  !  those  vv^ere  precious  hours  which  we  thus  spent 
together,  hours  never  to  be  forgotten  again !     I  can  see 


1 68  Through  Night  to  Light. 

us  still  sitting  by  the  light  of  a  miserable  train-oil  lamp 
in  our  diminutive  garret,  on  an  autumn  evening  like 
this  to-day,  when  the  rain  was  pattering  down  upon  th& 
tiles  right  over  our  heads,  and  the  gutter  was  overflow- 
ing, and  the  owls  and  rooks  in  the  steeple  of  St.  Nicho- 
las were  crowing  and  croaking.  We  were  not  cold, 
however,  although  there  was  no  fire  burning  in  the 
little  cast-iron  stove,  for  the  sacred  flame  of  friendship 
warmed  the  blood  in  our  veins  with  a  gentle  glow,  and 
I  was  sewing  till  the  thread  smoked,  and  he  was  learning 
his  grammar  till  his  head  smoked ;  and  when  I  had  fin- 
ished a  seam  in  masterly  style,  and  he  could  tell  his 
typto^  typteis  without  a  mistake,  we  fell  into  each  other's 
arms  and  envied  no  king  on  his  throne  in  all  his  splen- 
dor." 

Mr.  Bemperlein  paused  and  looked  deeply  moved  into 
his  glass. 

"  Hurrah  for  old  times  !  "  said  Franz. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  new  ones,  too !  "  replied  Bemperlein, 
touching  glasses  with  the  betrothed. 

"  But  how  about  the  dress-coat,  Bemperlein  .'*  "  asked 
Sophie.  "  I  hope  it  was  not  the  coat  in  which  you  were 
confirmed.?  " 

"  You  have  guessed  it,  fair  lady ;  it  was  my  confirma- 
tion coat.  The  time  for  the  ceremony  was  drawing  near. 
A  merchant,  to  whose  children  I  had  given  lessons  in 
reading  and  writing,  and  at  whose  table  I  dined  every 
Friday  gratis,  had  presented  me  with  the  cloth  for  a 
dress-coat.  The  good  man  even  told  me  to  have  it 
made  at  the  tailor's  ,at  his  expense.  But  I  thought  it 
would  be  abusing  his  goodness  if  I  should  avail  myself 
of  that  offer  too,  and  I  asked  his  permission  to  have  the 
coat  made  by  my  own  tailor.  Well,  you  may  imagine 
who  '•  my  own  tailor  '  was.  But  alas  !  Papa  Sweetmilk 
had  found  out  our  '  abominable  tricks,'  as  he  called  the 
sacred  hours  devoted  to  friendship  and  hard  work,  in 
his  vulgar  language.  He  had  discovered  the  Greek 
grammar,  which  Christian  used  to  throw  quickly  into 
'hell,'  the  place  of  remnants  and  rags,  when  the  Boeo- 
tian father  suddenly  entered,  and  the  effect  of  this  fatal 
discovery  was,  that  he  first  used  up  his  yard-stick  on  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  169 

shoulders  of  the  attic  youth,  and  then  ordered  him  per- 
emptorily to  give  up  all  intercourse  with  me  hereafter, 
under  penalty  of  being  immediately  and  permanently 
banished  from  the  paternal  house,  and  of  being  disin- 
herited besides.  My  faithful  friend  told  me  of  the  fear- 
ful sentence,  weeping  bitterly,  as  I  met  him  the  next 
day  at  the  corner  of  the  street.  '  But  I  will  not  submit 
any  longer  to  such  tyranny,'  he  cried,  flourishing  a  pair 
of  trousers,  which  he  was  ordered  to  carry  to  one  of  his 
father's  customers,  with  more  energy  than  grace.  'This 
one  more  slavish  service  I  will  render  (and  he  struck 
the  dishevelled  inexpressibles  with  his  closed  fist  in  wild 
fury)  and  then  I  will  go  into  the  wide,  wide  world.  Will 
you  go  with  me  .-*  '  It  took  me  some  time  to  quiet  the 
boy.  I  knew  that  nothing  pained  him  more  than  the 
thought  that  he  would  now  be  unable  to  help  me  with 
my  dress-coat.  I  reminded  him  of  the  command- 
ment, that  we  must  honor  father  and  mother,  if  we  wish 
to  live  long  in  the  land  which  the  Lord  our  God  has 
given  us.  I  told  him  his  father  Avould  probably  give 
way  after  a  while ;  and  as  for  the  dress-coat,  I  promised 
him  that  the  pupil  should  do  credit  to  his  master. 
Christian  shook  his  head  sadly.  '  You  can't  do  it,  Anas- 
tasius,'  he  said;  'you  will  not  get  it  done,  even  if  you 
had  any  idea  how  to  cut  it  out.'  '  What  will  you  bet, 
Christian.? '  I  cried.  'You  shall  see  me  to-day  week  at 
thie  confirmation  in  church,  wearing  the  coat  I  have 
made  without  your  assistance,  and  you  shall  have  to 
confess  that  it  fits  me  well.  If  I  win,  you  shall  give  me 
your  bird ;  if  you  win,  I'll  give  you  the  Odyssey,  Heyne's 
edition.  What  do  you  say.''  '  Done!  '  said  Christian, 
laughing,  in  spite  of  his  troubles.  '  I  ought  not  to  bet, 
because  you  are  sure  to  lose,  but  since  you  will  have  it 
so,  let  it  be  so.'  " 

"  Well,  and  who  won  the  wager.?  "  asked  Sophie,  full 
of  interest. 

"  On  the  following  Sunday,  at  St.  Nicholas,"  said  Mr. 
Bemperlein,  and  his  voice  trembled,  and  the  glasses  in 
his  spectacles  were  dim,  "  on  the  following  Svmday  I 
was  kneeling  amid  a  number  of  youths  before  the  altar, 
and  the  music  of  the  organ  was  floating  through  the  vast 
8 


lyo  Through  Night  to  Light. 

edifice,  and  the  minister  proclaimed  God's  blessing  over 
us;  but  I  heard  nothing  of  all  that.  I  only  looked  up 
to  the  gallery,  to  a  boy  with  long,  brown  hair  and  brown 
eyes,  who  kissed  his  hand  to  me,  and  whose  dear  face 
was  beaming  Avith  pride  and  joy  that  his  friend  ihould 
look  so  well,  contrary  to  all  his  expectations.  When  my 
turn  came  that  '  the  Lord  might  bless  me  and  preser\'e 
me  and  let  His  countenance  shine  upon  me,'  he  folded 
his  hands  piously  and  prayed  for  me  earnestly  with  bent 
head." 

Bemperlein  pavised  again.  He  had  taken  off  his 
glasses,  which  had  become  dimmer  and  dimmer,  and  was 
now  rubbing  them  bright  again  with  his  silk  handker- 
chief. 

"  And  what  has  become  of  Christian.''  "  asked  Franz. 

•'  He  is  now  professor  of  ancient  languages  in  one  of 
the  best  lyceums  in  Belgium  ;  his  grammar  of  the  Doric 
poets  is  considered  a  most  valuable  work  for  philolo- 
gists. I  had  a  letter  from  him  day  before  yesterday,  six- 
teen pages  long." 

"  And  what  has  become  of  the  dress-coat .'  "  asked  So- 
phie. 

"  It  hangs  still,  as  a  valued  memento  of  former  days, 
in  my  wardrobe,"  replied  Bemperlein,  replacing  his 
spectacles,  and  looking  with  a  smile  at  Sophie ;  "  and 
what  is  more  than  that,  it  still  fits  me  so  well  that  I  can 
present  myself  in  it  at  any  time,  if  my  gracious  lady 
should  entertain  any  doubts  as  to  the  truthfulness  of  this 
veracious  story." 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor,  Bemperlein .'  "  said  Sophie, 
with  unusual  seriousness,  offering  him  her  hand. 

"Anything!"  said  Bemperlein,  enthusiastically,  and 
seizing  tlie  girl's  hand. 

"Then  don't  order  a  new  dress-coat  for  my  wedding, 
but  come  in  the  old  one,  which  has  become  very  dear  to 
me  through  your  touching  story." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest .''  " 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  1 " 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Bemperlein,  kissing  Sophie's 
hand  reverently,  "  I  will  be  at  your  wedding  in  the  coat 
which  I  have  made  myself  for  my  confirmation." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  171 

The  little  company  finished  their  cold  supper  and 
then  went  back  to  the  cosy  sitting-room,  Avhere  Sopliie 
made  tea,  while  Franz  went  to  inquire  after  the  privy 
councillor.  He  returned  with  the  welcome  news  that 
papa  was,  for  the  first  time  since  the  beginning  of 
his  sickness,  lying  in  quiet,  refreshing  sleep,  and  that 
the  servant  who  was  watching  by  his  bedside  said 
"  he  had  fallen  asleep  almost  immediately  after  hav- 
ing murmured  a  few  unintelligible  words,  with  folded 
hands." 

Franz  assured  them  that  the  recovery  would  now  pro- 
gress with  rapid  strides,  and  that  he  felt  very  little  doubt 
any  more  of  a  perfect  restoration.  Sophie  embraced 
and  kissed  him  as  a  reward  fortius  good  news,  and  Bem- 
perlein  vowed  he  would  hereafter  acknowledge  a  fifth 
most  profane  evangelist,  besides  the  four  in  the  Bible — 
namely,  a  St.  Franciscus. 

They  were  sitting  around  the  fire-place.  The  steam 
of  the  tea-kettle  and  the  smoke  of  the  cigars  which  the 
gentlemen  had  lighted,  rose  in  clouds  up  to  the  Olympic 
Zeus,  who  now  became  a  comfortable  Zeus  Xenius. 
Franz  was  in  a  peculiarly  elated  humor,  which  Sophie 
placed  on  the  ground  of  the  favorable  turn  in  her 
father's  disease,  but  which  had  a  very  diflFerent  reason. 
It  was  the  nervous  excitement  which  overcomes  even 
the  bravest  before  the  beginning  of  a  battle  ;  for  Franz 
felt  and  knew  that  to-day  the  battle  of  life  had  com- 
menced for  him  in  good  earnest.  He  had  assumed  most 
serious  obligations,  which  might  have  incalculable  con- 
sequences for  his  own  future  and  for  Sophie's  future. 
The  very  heaviest  responsibility  was  henceforth  resting 
on  his  shoulders.  He  saw  of  a  sudden  the  ocean,  on 
which  the  vessel  which  contained  their  joint  fortunes 
was  sailing,  filled  with  most  dangerous  reefs,  which  it 
would  require  an  always  clear  head,  an  always  bold 
heart,  and  an  always  steady  hand  to  clear  successfully. 
Sophie  did  not  suspect  what  her  betrothed  was  then  ex- 
periencing; she  began,  with  Bemperlein's  aid,  to  draw  a 
picture  of  the  future — a  little  paradise,  full  of  peace  and 
comfort,  quiet' and  sunshine. 

"You  must  get  married  too,  Bcmperlein,"  she  cried. 


172 


Through  Nhht  to  Lizht. 


"With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  replied  Mr.  Bemperlein. 
"if  you  Avill  find  the  main  thing." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  girl  who  is  willing  to  love  me,  and  whom  I  can 
love." 

"  I'll  pick  you  out  one,  Bemperlein.  I  know  your 
taste,  and  I  know  exactly  what  the  future  Mrs.  Bemper- 
lein must  be  like." 

"  I  am  rather  curious  to  hear,"  said  Mr.  Bemperlein, 
comfortably  ensconcing  himself  in  his  chair. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Sophie,  "  as  regards  the  ex- 
terior— for  you  do  attach  some  importance  to  appear- 
ances, Bemperlein,  do  you  not.-"  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Bemperlein,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  then,  your  future  wife  must  not  be  tall." 

"  Why  not .?  " 

"  Because  you  arc  not  a  giant  yourself,  Bemperlein ; 
and,  you  know,  like  and  like  ...  I  therefore  submit 
that  she  ought  to  be  delicate  and  well  made,  a  nice  lit- 
tle figure,  with  dark  hair  and  dark  eyes,  clever,  active, 
gay,  and  mobile.     Are  you  content.''  " 

"  Hem !  "  said  Mr.  Bemperlein.  "  Not  so  bad  !  not  so 
bad  !     Go  on  !  " 

"  Then,  as  regards  fortune  ;  she  must  not  be  rich.  You 
know  why." 

"  Because  I  would  not  know  what  to  do  with  the 
money." 

"  Exactly  so.     Am  I  right?  " 

"  Perfectly.  But  now  tell  me  why  said  lady  must 
necessarily  have  brown  hair  and  brown  eyes.?  " 

"  As  far  as  I  recollect,  I  have  only  spoken  of  dark 
hair  and  dark  eyes ;  but  if  you  have  a  decided  prefer- 
ence for  brown,  Bemperlein " 

"Preference.?"  said  Bemperlein,  almost  anxiously. 
"  I  have  a  preference !     What  do  you  mean .?  " 

"  Bemperlein,  you  blush  !  That  is  a  very  suspicious 
sign.     Do  not  you  think  so  too,  Franz .?  " 

"  Very  suspicious,"  replied  Franz.  "  I  propose  that 
the  accused  be  examined  most  rigorously,  and  persuaded 
by  every  available  means  to  make  an  opeif  and  full  con- 
fession." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  173 

"Yes,  he  must  confess!  he  shall  confess!"  cried  the 
overjoyous  girl,  clapping  her  hands;  "he  shall  give  an 
account  of  that  treacherous  redness  on  his  cheeks.  Ac- 
cused !  I  ask  you,  upon  your  conscience,  do  you  know  a 
lady  with  brown  hair  and  brown  eyes?  " 

"But  how  can  you  ask  me  that,  Miss  Sophie?"  re- 
plied Mr.  Bemperlein,  blushing  deeper  than  before. 

"  Let  your  words  be  Yea,  yea!  or  Nay,  nay  !  accused, 
and  nothing  else  !  " 

"  Well  then,  I  have  !  "  said  Bemperlein,  laughing. 

"And  when  you  spoke  of  brown  hair  and  brown  eyes, 
did  you  think  of  this  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  replied  Bemperlein,  after  some  hesitation. 

"  Now  we  have  him  !  He  has  thought  of  her !  He  has 
thought  of  her !  "  cried  Miss  Sophie,  and  laughed  with 
delight. 

"  But  who  is  she  ?  "  asked  Franz. 

"  We  shall  learn  that  presently.  Accused  !  does  she 
live  in  this  city?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Franz,  take  that  down  :  she  lives  in  the  city.  Ac- 
cused !  do  you  see  her  frequently?  " 

"No." 

"  Then,  have  you  seen  her  to-day  ?  " 

"  But,  Miss  So " 

"  No  subterfuges  !     Have  you  seen  her  to-day  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  see  I  shall  fare  better  by  confessing  every- 
thing at  once,"  said  Mr.  Bemperlein,  who  in  spite  of  all 
his  efforts  to  appear  unconcerned  had  become  more  and 
more  embarrassed.  "  Hear,  then,  oh  severe  judge,  and 
you,  grave  assistant  judge,  with  your  diabolic  smile,  the 
strange  story  which  has  happened  to  me  to-day,  and 
which  seems  to  be  specially  intended  to  lead  me  from 
one  trouble  to  another." 

"Tell  us,  Bemperlein  ;  tell  us!  "  cried  Sophie.  "Tho 
affair  begins  to  look  romantic." 

"  Well,  then,  you  know.  Miss  Sophie,  that  the  Gren- 
witz  family  has  come  to  town  to-day." 

"  We  are  aware  of  that.     Go  on,  accused  !  " 

"  But  you  do  not  know  that  the  baroness  wrote  to  me 
immediately  after  her  arrival,  and  asked  me  to  call  on 


174  Through  Night  to  Light. 

her  in  the  course  of  the  day.  She  said  she  had  to 
confer  with  me  on  a  matter  of  the  utmost  importance." 

"  The  affairs  of  the  baroness  are  always  of  the  utmost 
importance,"  said  Franz. 

"  That  I  knew  ;  and  therefore  I  did  not  exactly  hasten 
to  pay  my  visit.  Towards  evening,  however,  just  before 
I  came  here,  I  went  to  the  house." 

"  Well,  and  what  was  the  great  trifle  .?  " 

"  I  never  found  it  out,  for  I  was  not  fortunate  enough 
to  be  admitted.  In  the  house-door  I  met  Mr.  Timm,  who 
was  in  such  a  hurry  that  he  nearly  ran  over  me,  and 
he  had  barely  time  to  say  to  me  '  What  on  earth  are  you 
doing  here,  Bemperlein .'' '  In  the  ante-chamber  to  which 
the  servant  had  shown  me  I  found  Mademoiselle  Mar- 
guerite." 

"  Has  she  brown  eyes,  Bemperlein  .-•  " 

"  She  has  brown  eyes,  Miss  Sophie ;  very  fine  brown 
eyes ;  which  appeared  to  me  at  that  moment  all  the 
brighter  as  they  were  filled  with  tears." 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Sophie,  unconsciously  dropping  her 
gay  tone  ;  "  why  so  ?  " 

"  Do  I  know  it }  I  had  entered  Avithout  knocking,  as 
I  did  not  expect  there  would  be  anybody  inside.  When 
I  came  in,  the  young  lady,  who  had  been  sitting  with 
her  head  on  a  table  and  sobbing,  jumped  up  and  did 
her  best  to  hide  her  tears.  When  I  asked  if  I  could  see 
the  baroness,  she  replied  that  she  would  go  and  see. 
But  she  did  not  gOs  at  least  not  beyond  the  nearest  door, 
where  she  stopped  and  again  broke  out  into  tears.  You 
may  imagine  hoAV  embarrassed  I  was.  I  cannot  see 
anybody  weep,  much  less  so  young,  poor,  and  helpless 
a  creature  as  Mademoiselle  Marguerite.  I  went  up  to 
her,  took  her  hand — upon  my  word  I  could  not  help  it 
— and  said — what  else  could  I  say.? — 'why  do  you  cry, 
Mademoiselle  } '  Her  tears  flowed  only  the  faster.  I 
repeated  my  question  again  and  again.  ^  J'e  si/is  si  mal- 
heiircitse !'  was  all  she  could  utter  amid  her  sobs.  That 
was  all  I  heard.  I  pitied  the  poor  child,  with  all  my 
heart.  I  asked  if  I  could  help  her.  She  shook  her 
head.  I  tried  to  comfort  her,  and  said  whatever  can  be 
said  in  such  a  state  of  things.     Gradually  she  calmed 


Through  Night  to  Light.  175 

down,  dried  her  eyes,  pressed  my  hand,  and  said,  *  Ohy 
que  vous  ttes  ban  !  '  Then  she  stepped  out  at  the  door, 
I  was  as  wise  as  before.  After  a  few  minutes  there 
came,  in  her  place,  Baron  Felix,  to  tell  me  that  his  aunt 
was  exceedingly  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  see  me  to-night. 
She  was  too  much  fatigued  from  the  journey.  I  might 
call  again  in  the  morning.  As  Baron  Felix  also  seemed 
to  be  in  a  great  hurry,  I  took  my  leave  very  quickly. 
When  I  was  in  the  door  he  called  after  me,  '  Apropos, 
Mr.  Bemperlein,  do  you  happen  to  know  when  Doctor 
Stein  will  be  back  again  ? '  'I  believe  in  a  few  days,'  I 
replied,  and  left.     There  you  have  my  romantic  story." 

"  Whicli  is  full  of  suggestions,"  said  Franz.  "For  in- 
stance, I  should  like  to  know  myself  when  Oswald  will 
be  back.     He  ought  to  be  here  by  this  time." 

At  that  moment  a  maid  came  in,  to  hand  him  a  card. 

"Is  the  gentleman  still  there.-*"  asked  Franz,  rising 
quickly. 

"  No,  sir.  He  asked  if  you  were  alone  ?  I  told  him, 
*  No,  Mr.  Bemperlein  was  in  the  room.'  Then  he  said  he 
would  call  again,  and  left." 

"Who  was  it?  "  asked  Sophie. 

"  Oswald !  "  replied  Franz.  "  What  a  pity !  I  should 
have  liked  to  have  seen  him." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

OSWALD  had  reached  Grunwald  a  few  hours  ago. 
The  early  autumn  evening  was  coming  on  apace, 
as  he  approached  the  old  town  on  the  turnpike — 
for  this  part  of  the  Prussian  Vendee  was  then  not  yet  in 
possession  of  a  railway.  The  high  towers  rose  dimly 
like  Ossian's  giant  bodies  in  the  floating  gray  mist; 
mists  hung  low  upon  the  meadows  between  the  cause- 
way and  the  sea,  and  mists  hovered  over  the  wide  waters 
between  the  island  and  the  firm  land. 

Oswald  wrapped  himself,  shivering,  more  closely  in 


176  Through  A'ight  io  Light. 

his  cloak,  and  fell  back  in  the  corner  of  the  coupe. 
What  was  he  to  do  in  Grunwald  ?  What  did  he  want 
in  Grunwald  ?  He  did  not  know  it  himself.  Even  the 
low  trees  by  the  wayside,  bent  by  the  northeast  storms, 
Avhich  slipped  by  in  wearying  monotony  as  he  drove  on, 
did  not  know  it ;  the  raw-boned  stage  horses,  dripping 
with  wet  and  trotting  mechanically  along  with  drooping 
heads,  did  not  know  it ;  even  the  old,  bearded  guard, 
who  was  pulling  out  the  list  of  passengers  for  the  hun- 
dredth time,  from  sheer  weariness,  and  was  conning  it 
over  once  more,  even  he  did  not  know  it.  Nobody 
knew  it,  unless  it  was  the  crow,  which  had  delayed  too 
long  in  the  woods  and  was  now  flying  lonely  and  sadly 
above  the  stage-coach  towards  town,  and  vanished  in  the 
mist.  And  the  trees  danced  by,  more  like  spectres  than 
ever;  and  the  horses  shook  more  impatiently  the  heavy 
collars,  and  the  mist  rolled  up  in  closer  and  darker 
masses,  and  through  the  close  and  dark  mist  a  few  lights 
become  visible ;  and  now  the  coach  rolls  across  the 
drawbridge,  through  the  narrow  town-gate,  into  the 
narrow,  ill-paved,  tortuous  street,  and  stops  before  the 
post-oflice.  The  sudden  quiet  after  many  hours'  shaking, 
jolting,  and  rattling,  is  indescribably  sweet  for  one  who 
reaches  the  end  of  his  journey,  but  indescribably  painful 
for  him  whose  journey  has  no  end,  or  for  whom  the  end 
is  not  the  desired  goal.  He  wovdd  rather  the  jolting, 
shaking,  and  rattling  should  begin  once  more  and  carry 
him  further  and  further  away  from  all  men  into  eternal 
night. 

But  he  is  now  in  a  civilized  city  among  civilized  men, 
Avho  have  no  sympathy  with  eccentricities  of  any  kind, 
and  who  hold  to  the  opinion  that  a  gentleman  who  ar- 
rives in  Grunwald  by  the  express  stage-coach  at  the 
appointed  hour,  half-past  seven  o'clock,  is  bound  to  give 
the  guard  a  fee,  to  ask  him  respectfully  to  pick  out  from 
the  other  boxes  and  trunks  his  own  trunk  and  hat-box, 
marked  in  legible  letters  with  a  "  Doctor  Stein,  passen- 
ger for  Grunwald,"  and  then  to  send  these  things  by  a 
porter  to  the  Hotel  St.  Petersburg.  Here  Doctor  Stein 
thought  he  would  be  kindly  remembered  from  the  time 
when  he  studied  and  passed  his  examination  here  under 


Through  Night  to  Light.  177 

the  auspices  of  Professor  Bcrgcr,  and  used  to  drink 
many  a  bottle  of  wine  at  said  hotel  in  company  with  the 
latter;  but  now  nobody  knew  him,  for  the  old  landlord 
had  died  several  months  ago,  and  the  new  landlord  had 
engaged  new  waiters. 

This  had  the  effect  that  the  clerk  looked  upon  him 
as  a  stranger  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  and  treated 
him  as  such,  presenting  to  him  at  once  the  large  book 
in  which  he  was  to  enter  his  name.  "Mr.  Drostein.? 
Thank  you  !  ,  .  .  Doctor  O.  Stein  .?  Ah !  I  beg  pardon ; 
thought  it  was  all  one  name.  Are  you  going  to  honor 
us  with  your  presence  for  any  length  of  time,  sir.''  No.'* 
Much  life  in  town  just  now :  theatre,  horse-fair,  stvi- 
dent's  ball.  .  .  .  Doctor  Bruno  }  Know  him  very  well, 
practices  in  the  house  since  the  privy  councillor  has 
been  paralyzed.  Was  here  to-day.  .  .  Where  he  lives.'' 
Quite  near  here.  Post  street,  second  house  on  the  right, 
close  by  the  privy  councillor's.  Are  you  going  to  order 
supper,  sir.'  No  appetite.''  sorry  to  hear  it!  Very  fine 
fresh  oysters  !  Natives !  Anything  else .''  water  to  drink .'' 
Pitcher  of  water  1  Directly,  sir,  you  shall  have  it  at 
once!  " 

An  uncomfortable-looking  room ;  two  lighted  candles 
on  the  table  before  the  sofa;  a  trunk  on  a  low  trestle;  a 
hat-box  on  the  chair  close  by ;  all  around  silence,  when 
the  step  of  the  waiter  is  no  longer  heard  in  the  long, 
narrow  passage.  Oswald  did  not  think  the  situation 
calculated  to  cheer  up  a  melancholy  man.  He  made 
haste  to  leave  the  room  and  the  house. 

It  had  been  his  first  intention  to  call  on  Franz,  the 
only  one  in  Grunwald  from  whom  he  could  be  sure  of 
receiving  a  hearty  welcome — a  friend's  reception ;  but 
he  soon  abandoned  the  plan  and  wandered  aimless  and 
purposeless  through  the  streets.  He  had  never  felt  at 
home  in  Grunwald ;  but  yet  he  had  not  found  the  town 
looking  so  utterly  strange  to  him,  even  in  the  first  days 
of  his  former  residence  here.  Was  it  only  the  effect  of 
his  melancholy  humor .''  Was  it  the  dark,  misty  evening  f 
He  did  not  recognize  the  streets — the  squares  through 
which  he  used  to  walk  so  often ;  and  when  he  thought 
he  recalled  one  or  the  other  feature,  it  was  only  like 


178  Through  Night  to  Light. 

something  seen  in  a  dream,  wliere  we  confound  the  near 
and  the  far  chaotically  in  some  great  unknown  distance. 
At  last  he  found  himself  in  one  of  the  streets  leading 
down  to  the  harbor.  Here  he  was  more  at  home,  for 
the  harbor  with  its  crowd  of  boats  and  ships,  its  smell 
of  the  sea  and  of  tar,  its  monotonous  sailors'  songs,  and 
its  ceaseless  hammering  and  knocking  and  sawing,  had 
ever  been  his  favorite  part  of  the  town,  and  the  almost 
daily  end  of  his  walks. 

But  to-night  everything  was  deserted  and  death-like, 
even  in  this  the  only  lively  portion  of  the  old  Hanse 
town,  every  other  part  of  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
fast  asleep  for  centuries,  and  was  at  best  murmuring  in 
a  half  dream  something  about  its  past  glory  and  power. 
Here  and  there  a  light  was  visible  through  a  cabin  Avin- 
dow,  now  and  then  a  dog  barked  on  the  deck  of  a  vessel, 
or  a  sailor's  hoarse  call  was  heard ;  otherv>'ise  all  was 
silence  and  darkness. 

He  walked  upon  the  wharf  that  stretched  far  into  the 
sea,  and  along  which  vessel  lay  by  vessel,  out  to  the 
uttermost  point.  Here  he  stood  for  some  time,  sunk  in 
silent  meditation,  and  looked  with  folded  arms  out  into 
the  darkness  which  rested  on  the  waters,  and  listened  to 
the  low,  monotonous  splashing  of  the  waves  which  were 
all  the  time  kissing  and  caressing  the  massive  blocks  of 
the  breakwater.  Was  this  his  dearly-beloved  sea,  on 
which  his  dreams  and  his  hopes  had  so  often  taken 
wings  in  company  with  countless  gulls  .''  Was  this  the 
dark  abyss,  in  which  his  hopes  and  dreams  had  been 
irretrievably  swallowed  up  for  all  eternity,  like  the 
treasure  of  a  shipwrecked  vessel } 

Beyond,  on  the  other  side  of  the  black  waste  of 
waters,  lay  the  island,  so  near  and  yet  so  far  off,  like  the 
time  which  he  had  spent  there — the  short  span  of  time 
that  held  all  he  had  ever  known  of  happiness  and  peace 
in  this  life.  A  ferry-boat,  which  came  from  the  island 
across,  sailed  close  by  the  outer  end  of  the  wharf  on 
which  he  was  standing.  He  heard  the  measured  dip  of 
the  heavy  oars  as  they  struck  the  waters,  and  the  peculiar 
low  screeching  which  they  cause  as  they  rub  against 
the  gunwale  ;  he  heard  the  confused  voices  of  the  pas- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  179 

sengers ;  he  could  even,  as  they  came  nearer,  distinguish 
single  words ;  he  thought  he  heard  Helen's  name.  Per- 
haps it  was  only  an  illusion,  or  an  echo  in  his  own 
heart;  but  it  struck  him  with  peculiar  force,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  a  desire  overcame  him  to  seek  out  the  house 
where,  as  he  knew,  the  fair  maid  was  staying  at  the 
time. 

He  went  back  into  the  town ;  he  crossed  the  market- 
place. He  stopped  before  the  house  where  Berger  had 
lived.  There  was  no  light  in  the  windows.  He  could 
see  by  the  light  of  a  street-lamp  that  the  green  blinds 
were  closed,  as  in  a  house  whose  owner  had  died.  From 
the  steeple  of  St.  Nicholas  the  solemn  music  of  a  choral 
was  heard,  in  w^hich,  according  to  an  ancient  custom, 
Grunwald  bids  every  evening  at  nine  o'clock  farewell 
to  the  day  that  has  gone  by.  Ordinarily  the  organist 
only  sends  four  men  up  to  sing ;  but  on  days  when  a 
citizen  of  distinction  has  been  gathered  to  his  fathers,  he 
sends  half,  or  the  whole  of  the  choir,  according  to  the 
desire  of  the  survivors,  who  wish  to  give  an  expression 
to  their  grief  in  this  extraordinary  manner.  To-day 
all  the  voices  were  fully  represented  —  the  deceased 
must  have  been  a  man  of  very  uncommon  importance. 

Oswald  listened  till  the  last  note  had  died  away.  He 
thought  of  death,  and  the  Great  Mystery  which  the  grave 
does  not  solve,  but  makes  only  darker,  and  how  happy 
the  men  are,  after  all,  who  find  their  trust  in  believing  in 
a  Saviour  and  a  Redeemer. 

The  long-drawn  summons  of  the  sentinel  before  the 
main-guard  awaked  him  from  his  dreams.  The  squeak- 
ing voice  of  a  youthful  hero  gave  the  command  :  "  Carry 
arms !  Ground  arms !  Helmets  off  for  prayer !  "  Piety 
by  order —  effusions  of  heart,  according  to  the  paragraph 
of  the  regulations !  In  a  well  ordered  state  everything 
must  go  by  rule. 

"  Why,"  said  Oswald  to  himself,  while  he  was  walking 
towards  the  town-gate,  "  why  are  you  not  a  pedant  among 
pedants,  since  fate  does  not  permit  you  to  be  a  Roman 
among  Romans.?  Why  do  you  kick  against  the  pricks 
to  which  all  the  cattle  patiently  submit.''  You  might  be 
as  well  off  as  the  others.     After  all,  it  may  not  be  so  bad 


i8o  Through  Night  to  Light. 

a  thing  to  sit,  as  Berger  used  to  call  it,  in  the  easy-chair 
of  an  office  ;  the  night-cap  of  a  sinecure  may  protect  one 
against  many  an  attack  of  rheumatism— rthe  effect  of  a 
draught  in  this  windy  outside  world;  and  he  who  has  a 
virtuous  wife  lives  twice  as  long;  and  when  he  is  com- 
pelled to  die,  like  everybody  else,  they  play  and  sing 
from  the  steeple,  that  the  whole  town  hears  it  and  prays 
for  the  peace  of  his  soul." 

Above  him  it  rustled  in  the  tall  trees  with  which  the 
street  was  lined  that  led  to  the  suburb  and  to  Miss 
Bear's  boarding-school.  The  evening  breeze  has  torn 
the  dense  veil  of  fog,  and  the  crescent  of  the  increasing 
moon  was  dancing  through  the  clouds  in  their  spectral 
flight.  A  horseman  galloped  past  him  towards  town. 
The  horse  snorted  ;  sparks  flew.  A  moment  later,  and 
the  noise  was  scarcely  audible,  and  soon  ceased  alto- 
gether. "-Somebody,  I  dare  say,  who  rides  for  the  doc- 
tor ;  a  husband,  perhaps,  whose  wife  is  taken  ill ;  a  father, 
whose  son  is  lying  on  his  death-bed."  Oswald  thought 
of  the  night  when  Bruno  died,  and  of  his  fearful  ride 
across  the  heath  from  Grenwitz  to  Fashwitz.  If  Bruno 
had  only  lived  I  Oswald  thought  everything  would  have 
happened  differently  then.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the 
death  of  the  boy  alone  had  made  him  so  miserably  poor — 
as  if  he  could  have  challenged  a  world  in  arms,  with  him 
by  his  side.  With  him  and  good  fortune !  no  sacrifice 
would  have  been  too  great  for  Bruno's  sake  ;  not  even 
the  sacrifice  of  his  love  for  Helen.  He  would  have  wil- 
lingly and  cheerfully  given  the  fair  girl  to  Bruno — but  to 
him  alone,  in  the  world.  Given }  What  had  he  to  give 
— he  the  beggar .? 

Now  he  was  standing  before  the  house  he  had  come 
to  see,  and  supported  himself  against  the  iron  railing 
of  the  garden.  There  was  not  a  window  lighted  up  in 
the  whole  house.  The  inmates  had  probably  all  retired 
to  rest.  He  thought  of  the  summer  nights  when  he  had 
stood  looking  by  the  hour  at  the  open  window  with  the 
curtains  lowered,  from  which  the  music  of  a  piano  was 
wafted  to  him  through  the  soft,  silent  air;  and  liours 
afterwards,  long  after  the  light  had  vanished  behind  the 
red  curtains  and  the  music  had  ceased,  and  he  had  still 


Through  Night  to  Light.  i8i 

wandered  up  and  down  between  the  flower-beds  and 
under  the  tall  beech-trees,  sometimes  till  the  first  purple 
streak  of  morning-dawn  appeared  on  the  eastern  hori- 
zon, and  the  birds  in  the  thick  bushes  began  dreamily  to 
twitter  above  him. 

A  breath  of  wind  rushed  through  the  two  tall  poplar- 
trees  on  both  sides  of  the  lofty  portal  and  whispered 
mysteriously  in  the  dry  leaves,  a  window-shutter  flap- 
ped in  the  house,  a  dog  in  a  neighboring  house  began 
to  bark. 

Oswald  shivered  as  if  he  had  a  fever.  The  momentary 
excitement  after  his  long  journey  in  the  stage-coach  had 
passed  away;  he  felt  tired  and  sick.  He  buttoned  up 
his  overcoat  and  turned  to  go  back  into  the  city.  A  car- 
riage came  rapidly  towards  him.  A  horseman  with  a 
lantern  in  his  hand  galloped  before  it — probably  the 
same  who  before  had  galloped  madly  through  the  dark 
night  into  town. 

Could  it  be  Doctor  Braun,  who  was  going  away  1 
The  thought  that  he  might  possibly  not  find  his  friend  at 
home,  awakened  in  Oswald  the  desire  to  see  him  and  to 
talk  to  him.  In  a  few  minutes — for  the  distances  in 
Grunwald  are  not  considerable — he  stood  before  the 
house  which  the  Avaiter  ha-d  tolcf-him  was  Doctor  Braun's 
house.  The  girl  who  opened  the  door  said  her  master 
was  at  the  privy  councillor's,  adding  that  he  spent  all 
his  evenings  there.  Here  Oswald  was  told  that  Bem- 
perlein  was  in  the  sitting-room — Bemperlein,  the  only 
one,  with  the  exception  of  old  Baumann,  who  knew  his 
relations  to  Frau  von  Berkow — the  only  one  whom  he 
feared  to  meet ;  whose  reproachful  glance,  in  case  he 
should  not  yet  have  been  informed  of  the  most  recent 
events,  must  be  painful  to  him. 

He  only  remembered,  when  he  was  in  the  street  again, 
that  his  going  away  in  such  a  manner  must  have  ap- 
peared extraordinary,  if  not  ridiculous.  This  disturbed 
him  and  made  him  feel  worse  than  before.  He  would 
have  liked  best  to  hide  himself  in  the  lowest  depth  of 
the  earth  ;  to  forget  in  sleep  the  misery  of  life.  In  sleep.'' 
Why  not  in  wine,  when  sleep  is  not  to  be  had  .''  "  The 
best  of  life  is  but  intoxication,"  says  Byron  ;  and  there, 


1 82  Through  Night  to  Light. 

where  a  solitary  lamp  shines  dimly  between  two  stone 
pillars,  is  the  entrance  to  the  cellars  of  the  old  city  hall. 
Down  the  long,  broad  staircase  with  the  low  steps,  down 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  where  nobody  cares  for  sen- 
timents that  make  the  heart  heavy,  and  for  thoughts 
that  confuse  the  head ! 


CHAPTER     XVII. 

THE  city  cellars  of  Grunwald  cannot  rival  those  of 
Bremen,  but  nevertheless  they  are  very  respecta- 
ble cellars.  The  low,  spacious  vaults  stretch  far 
under  the  city  hall,  and  extend  even  below  the  market- 
place, on  which  it  is  situated.  There  are  rooms  enough 
that  have  in  former  days  serv^ed  as  drinking  rooms  of 
every  size,  and  may  even  to-day  be  used  for  larger  and 
smaller  companies,  but  what  is  most  needed  is  wanting 
— the  guests.  The  good  old  times,  when  Grunwald 
was  wealthy  and  powerfu.l,  are  no  longer.  Those  who 
built  these  vaults  and  filled  them  with  ringing  of  cups, 
with  songs  of  cheerful  converse — the  honorable  sober- 
minded  burgesses  with  their  broad  shoulders,  their 
full,  well-trimmed  beards,  and  the  broad-swords  by  their 
sides — they  sleep,  all  of  them,  sound,  good  sleep  in  the 
old  graveyards,  or  under  the  huge  slabs  of  stone  with 
which  the  churches  are  paved,  if  they  were  members  of 
the  council,  or  otherwise  great  men,  and  there  "  await  a 
blissful  resurrection."  Their  grandchildren  crowd  to- 
gether in  dark,  narrow  chambers,  and  drink  stale  brown 
beer,  instead  of  fiery,  golden  wine;  many  a  one,  whose 
ancestor  went  down  these  steps  day  by  day,  whenever 
the  rosy  summer  evening  was  lying  on  the  high  gable 
roofs,  or  the  storms  of  Avinter  were  careering  through 
the  dark,  narrow  streets,  hardly  knows  how  it  looks 
down  there  in  the  city  cellars. 

Nevertheless  they  do  not  seem  to  be  entirely  deserted 
by  the  good  people  of  Grunwald.     The  dim  little  lamp 


Through  Night  to  Light.  183 

at  the  entrance  burns  night  after  night — often  far  into  the 
small  hours,  sometimes  till  daybreak — and  the  solemn 
citizen  who  has  been  belated  at  some  Christening  feast 
or  other  great  festivity,  and  now  Avalks  home  with  wife 
and  daughter  in  the  silent  night  through  the  deserted 
streets,  and  past  the  city  cellars,  often  sees  a  dim  light 
shine  through  the  unwashed  windows,  and  hears  per- 
haps low  confused  voices,  which  seem  to  rise  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  and  make  an  uncanny  impression 
at  that  hour  and  in  that  place. 

But  there  are  no  gnomes  carrying  on  their  wicked 
doings  below  there,  only  gay  companions,  jovial,  or  at 
least  not  very  pedantic  fellows,  who  can  fully  appreciate 
the  value  of  a  good  glass  of  wine,  taken  from  a  good 
cask,  and  enjoyed  in  good  society.  There  are  men  who 
do  not  relish  all  of  life  so  very  heartily  that  they 
should  not  at  times  desire  to  wash  the  dusty,  unpleasant 
taste  down  with  a  glass  of  wine ;  others  who  have  nei- 
ther chick  nor  child  at  home,  and  get  tired  at  night 
among  their  silent  books;  still  others  who,  wearied  of 
the  monotony  of  married  life,  Avant  to  have  a  merry 
night  for  once;  and  still  others,  who  have  quite  accident- 
ally found  their  way  down  the  broad  cellar-steps,  and 
cannot  very  well  get  up  again  a  few  hours  later,  how- 
ever broad  the  steps  may  be.  There  are  young  profes- 
sional men,  artists,  actors — if  there  happen  to  be  any 
in  town — young  literati,  now  and  then  a  farmer  from 
the  neighborhood,  or  an  official — these  make  the  main 
ingredients  of  the  public  which  is  apt  to  assemble  every 
evening  in  the  great  vault  to  the  left  of  the  entrance, 
and  sometimes,  when  they  wish  to  be  still  more  exclu- 
sive, in  a  smaller  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  build- 
ing. 

Oswald  knew  the  place  very  well  from  his  former 
residence  here,  although  he  had  never  reached  the  dig- 
nity of  an  habitue.  He  had  been  occasionally  at  the 
cellars  with  Berger,  without  taking  much  notice  of  the 
rest  of  the  company  that  might  be  there.  Thus  the 
damp,  cool  air,  filled  with  the  peculiar  odor  of  marvel- 
lously-ancient walls,  and  the  fragrance  of  last  year's  wine, 
greeted   him  pleasantly,  and   he   found  without  much 


184  Through  Night  to  Light. 

trouble  the  way  to  the  low  door  which  opened  into  the 
drinking-hall. 

Except  the  waiter,  there  happened  to  be  at  that  mo- 
ment nobody  in  the  long,  vaulted,  and  badly-lighted 
room,  but  a  single  guest,  who  sat  Avith  his  back  to  the 
door,  and  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  disturbed  in  the  least 
by  Oswald's  entrance.  He  was  pleasantly  engaged  in 
discussing  fresh  oysters,  and  Oswald,  who  had  taken  his 
seat  not  far  from  him  at  one  of  the  small  round  tables, 
noticed  with  some  astonishment  what  a  mountain  of 
shells  the  indefatigable  worker  had  already  accumulat- 
ed. And  yet  he  did  not  look  tired.  At  least  he  leaned 
only  now  and  then  back  in  his  chair,  in  order  to  sip 
with  evident  satisfaction  a  glass  of  wine,  and  then  re- 
newed his  labors  with  a  zeal  which  certainly  spoke  as 
eloquently  for  the  good  quality  of  the  oysters  as  for  the 
excellency  of  the  digestive  powers  of  the  consumer. 

The  last  shell  was  dropping  from  the  mountain,  and 
the  last  drops  were  flowing  from  the  bottle  into  the  glass. 

*'  Sic  transit  gloria  mundi,"  said  the  man;  "  nevertheless, 
we  can  easily  renew  this  gloria.  Carole,  bring  another 
dozen  of  these  excellent  dwellers  in  the  deep,  and  half 
a  bottle  of  this  most  praiseworthy  hock." 

Oswald  listened.  The  voice  was  familiar  to  him  ;  it 
reminded  him  of  by-gone,  happy  days.  That  fresh,  clear 
voice  had  refreshed  and  encouraged  him  more  than  once, 
as  the  wind  does  the  prisoner  blowing  in  through  the 
open  windows  of  his  prison ;  it  did  not  fail  to-day  to  have 
the  usual  effect  on  his  darkened  mind.  Of  all  men  this 
Avas  the  one  whose  company  was  by  far  the  most  wel- 
come to-night. 

He  rose,  therefore,  approached  him,  and  greeted  him 
with  unusual  animation. 

"  Ah,  dottore,  dottore  I"  exclaimed  the  oyster-cater,  rising 
at  once  and  seizing  the  proffered  hand.  "  You  here  .'' 
Well,  that  is  a  most  sensible  notion  of  our  stupid  friend's 
accident.  Carole,  a  whole  bottle  instead  of  half  a  bot- 
tle, and  several  dozen  oysters  instead  of  one." 

"  Am  I  really  at  this  moment  a  persona  grata  to  you, 
Timm.'  "  said  Oswald,  taking  a  seat  by  Albert's  side. 

'■^  Persona  grata!  at  this  moment!  "  cried  Albert  Timm. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  185 

"  Don  Oswaldo  !  Don  Oswaldo  !  I  have  missed  you 
sadly,  upon  my  word,  ever  since  we  parted  at  Grenwitz, 
and  I  am  as  delighted  as  a  snow-bird  to  see  you  here  again. 
Where  on  earth  have  you  been  hiding  all  this  time  ?  I 
have  inquired  of  everybody.     Since  when  are  you  back  .-'" 

"Three  hours  ago." 

"  And,  of  course,  you  are  hungry  and  thirsty,  just  as 
you  w^ere  when  you  left  the  stage-coach ;  at  least  you 
look  so.  Carole,  Carole !  Why  does  the  fellow  not 
come.'  At  last!  Here,  doltore,  is  food  for  a  sound 
stomach,  and  drink  for  a  sick  heart !  Here's  your  health  ! 
Welcome  in  Grunwald  !  " 

And  Mr.  Timm'sface  smiled  so  kindly  as  he  said  these 
kind  words  that  it  would  have  looked  like  blackest  in- 
gratitude to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  his  sentiments. 

Oswald  at  least  was  most  pleasantly  affected  by  this 
cordial  reception  of  a  man  whose  friendship  he  had 
never  tried  to  win,  whose  amiable  frankness  he  had  often 
metAvith  repulsive  coldness,  and  he  felt  this  all  the  more 
deeply  as  he  had  suffered  a  few  moments  before  acutely 
from  a  sense  of  loneliness  in  the  world. 

"  One  service  deserves  another,  Timm,"  he  said,  while 
the  latter  was  filling  the  glasses  again.  "  I  can  tell  you 
that  I  am  heartily  glad  to  have  met  you  the  very  first 
night  I  spend  again  in  this  town.  Let  us  have  another 
glass  !     Here's  our  good  friendship !  " 

"  With  pleasure !  "  cried  Mr.  Timm,  heartily  grasping 
Oswald's  proffered  hand.  "  We  will  hold  together  hon- 
estly. Heaven  knows  this  wretched  old -fogy  place 
does  not  have  an  abundance  of  men  with  whom  one  can 
hold  together,  or  like  to  do  it.  But  this  league  of  two 
noble  souls  ought  to  be  celebrated  in  a  nobler  beverage. 
Carole  !  A  bottle  of  champagne — clicquot  and  frappe 
— else,  by  the  bones  of  my  fathers,  the  lightning  of  my 
wrath  falls  upon  your  bald  pate.  And  now  come,  dottore 
fnio,  tell  us  something  of  your  wanderings ;  or,  rather,  tell 
us  that  some  other  time  ;  and  let  me  know,  first  of  all,  for 
that  is  most  interesting  to  me,  has  Fame  told  us  falsely 
in  making  a  most  wonderful  mixture  of  great  and  small 
things  of  the  last  scenes  of  your  farce,  your  drama,  or 
your  tragedy  at  Grenwitz }  " 


1 86  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Before  I  can  answer  that,"  said  Oswald,  whom  the 
oysters,  the  wine,  Timm's  company,  and  the  whole  at- 
mosphere, were  gradually  putting  into  better  humor, 
"  I  must  know  what  it  is  Fame  has  reported." 

"  Do  you  really  wish  to  know?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  there  were  two  readings ;  but  you  must  not 
blame  me.  Stein,  if  I  touch  a  sore  place  in  your  heart 
without  knowing." 

"  But,  Timm,  do  you  think  I  am  a  child  1  " 

"  In  some  respects  all  men  are  children,  and  remain 
children,  doltore,  and  you  are  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
Whatever  flatters  our  self-love,  goes  down  as  easily  as  a 
rich  oyster;  whatever  hurts  our  vanity,  tastes  like  worm- 
wood and  quinine.  Eh  Men  !  Some  say  you  had  favored 
an  understanding  between  Bruno — what  a  pity,  by  the 
way,  the  poor  boy  had  to  bite  the  grass  so  young  ! — and 
Miss  Helen  ;  that  Felix  had  come  to  you  to  hold  you  to 
an  account  about  this  in  the  name  of  the  parents ;  that 
this  had  led  to  a  difficulty  between  you,  which  had  ended 
in  a  scuffle ;  that  Felix  had  slipped,  in  his  endeavor  to 
turn  you  out  of  the  house,  and  that  he  had  broken  his 
right — some  say  his  left — arm,  once;  some  say  twice." 

"The  accursed  rascal,"  murmured  Oswald,  between 
his  teeth,  hastily  throwing  an  empty  oyster-shell  to  the 
others. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  might  annoy  you,  Oswald  "i 
Come,  don't  be  a  child,  and  wash  your  anger  down  in  a 
glass  of  this  famous  wine.  The  other  reading  is  not 
half  so  bitter." 

"  Let  us  hear!" 

"  According  to  this  variation  it  was  not  the  pupil, 
but  the  teacher,  whom  the  young  lady  looked  upon  with 
favor;  and  the  broken  arm  of  the  baron  was  not  the 
effect  of  a  fall,  but  of  a  pistol  ball,  which  was  applied  to 
his  aforesaid  extremity  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  and 
according  to  all  the  rules  of  art." 

"  Well,  and  which  reading  do  you  prefer.?  " 

"  Of  course  the  latter,  my  brave  Knight  of  La  Mancha. 
Here,  Oswald — nobody  hears  us  in  these  halls,  sacred  to 
friendship  and  love — fill  your  glass  and  drink !     Drink  it 


Through  Night  to  Light.  187 

to  the  last  drop  of  silvery  foani !  Her  health!  —  the 
health  of  the  only  one,  the  sweet,  the  fair,  the  beautiful 
one,  with  the  blueish-black  hair  and  the  dark  sea-deep 
eyes !  Drink  !  I  say,  by  the  bones  of  the  eleven  thou- 
sand virgins  at  Cologne  !  Drink  !  How,  noble  Don, 
are  you  ashamed  to  confess  the  lady  of  your  overflow- 
ing heart?  and  to  deny  her  before  me  —  me,  the  wise 
Merlin,  who  can  hear  the  grass  grow  and  the  eyes  sigh? 
Have  I  not  heard  the  sighing  of  yovir  beautiful  eyes  in 
those  sunny  days  which  are  no  more,  when  you  and  she, 
two  children  of  a  rare  kind,  played  innocently  under 
the  rose-bushes  and  thought  that  no  one  saw  you,  not 
even  the  Creator  of  heaven  and  earth  who  gave  you  the 
warm  breath  with  which  you  playfully  whispered  to 
each  other  the  sweet  mysteries  of  love  ?  And  did  I  not 
hear  how  serpents'  tongues  hissed  around  you  ?  Did  I 
not  see  with  what  intense  hatred  basilisk  eyes  glared 
at  you  ?  Oh,  I  have  seen  and  heard  all  that,  and  I  knew 
before  that  it  would  come  thus,  but  I  said  nothing;  for 
speech  is  silver,  but  silence  is  gold,  and  he  who  meddles 
with  love  affairs  would  do  better  to  go  and  sit  down  in 
a  bed  of  nettles." 

"  Tell  me,  Timm,  have  you — have  you  seen  her  since 
she  has  come  to  Grunwald  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  her,  my  master ! — not  once,  but  many 
times,  by  the  side  of  other  fair  beauties,  among  whom 
she  looked  like  the  rose  of  Sharon  amid  dandelions, 
gliding  over  the  pavement  of  Grunwald,  through  dis- 
mal streets;  and  the  paving-stones  in  the  streets  and  the 
bricks  in  the  houses  received  speech,  and  they  spoke  and 
sang  :  Blessed  art  thou  among  women  !  " 

"She  is  at  Miss  Bear's  house,  is  she  not?"  Oswald 
asked,  w^ho  thought  it  would  be  folly  to  try  and  conceal 
his  attachment  from  a  man  of  such  sharp  observation 
as  Albert. 

"Yes,  she  is  at  the  She  Bear's — this  pearl  of  an  argus- 
eyed  female.  There  she  dwells,  and  sits  at  the  window 
and  sees  the  clouds  drift  over  the  tops  of  the  poplars;  and 
if  you  pass  by  there  at  noon,  between  twelve  and  one, 
you  can  see  her  sit  there  yourself,  as  I  have  seen  her 
every  time   I    have   passed   there  at   that   hour.      And 


t88  Through  Night  to  Light. 

always  she  raised  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  always  she 
looked  at  me  inquiringly:  Can  you  bring  me  no  news 
of  him — of  him,  the  only  man  I  love  dearly?  Why, 
Oswald,  I — a  prosy  old  fogy — I  speak  in  verses  when- 
ever I  think  of  the  maid;  and  you,  who  are  a  poet,  mean 
to  deny  that  you  love  her  with  all  your  heart,  with  all 
your  soul,  with  all  your  mind  ?  Fie  upon  you  ;  you  do 
not  deserve  that  I  take  so  much  trouble  about  you — that 
I  have  thought  of  you  these  last  weeks  more  frequently 
than  you  have  done  during  the  whole  time.  But  in- 
gratitude is  the  reward  of  the  world,  and — Carole, 
another  bottle  !  —  I  shall  hereafter  not  trouble  myself 
about  you  and  your  fate  any  further." 

Timm  rested  his  head  in  his  hand,  as  Oswald  had 
been  doing  these  last  ten  minutes.  A  pause  followed, 
while  bald-headed  Charles  placed  a  new  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne into  the  wine-cooler,  turned  it  round  a  few  times 
in  the  ice,  and  then  left  them  again  as  noiselessly  as  he 
had  come. 

This  sudden  transition  from  exuberant  hilarity  into 
such  melancholy  silence,  in  an  elastic  nature  like  Sur- 
veyor Timm's,  was  somewhat  too  sudden  to  be  perfectly 
natural.  Oswald,  however,  was  too  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts  to  notice  this.  He  thought  Timm  was  sincere, 
and  he  was  flattered  by  the  lively  interest  which  he  had 
excited  in  a  man  whom  he  had  heretofore  looked  upon 
as  altogether  frivolous  and  selfish.  He  filled  his  own 
glass  and  Albert's  from  the  new  bottle,  and  said, 

"  I  am  not  ungrateful,  Timm  ;  I  am  really  not  so  ;  and 
least  of  all  in  this  case.  And  if  I  have  heretofore  not 
put  full  faith  in  your  friendship,  it  was  only  because  I 
felt  how  little  I  had  deserved  it.  Let  us  have  another 
glass  together !  You  know  you  must  not  be  exacting 
with  a  melancholy  man  like  myself!  " 

"  Well,  I  should  think  I  knew  that,"  said  Timm,  with 
his  usual  merry  laugh,  pushing  back  the  long  fair  hair 
that  had  fallen  down  upon  his  forehead,  and  emptying 
his  glass  at  a  single  draught.  And  I  have  often  won- 
dered how  a  man  like  yourself,  who  has  a  right  to 
enjoy  life  more  than  any  one  else,  can  look  upon  the 
world   in  a  way  which  seems  only  fit  for  sick  canary 


Through  Night  to  Light.  189 

birds  and  like  invalids.  I  should  say  nothing  if  you 
had  never  commenced  to  enjoy  it  from  mere  bashful- 
ness,  or  if  you  had  wasted  your  strength  in  enjoyment ; 
but  as  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  is  evidently  the 
case  with  you — as  you  are  not  an  enthusiastic  saint  nor 
a  worn-out  roue — as  you  suffer  neither  of  an  exuberance 
of  strength  nor  of  too  great  weakness,  I  really  cannot 
tell  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  except  one  thing." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Timm  rested  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  the 
smooth  face  in  his  white  hands,  and  smiled  craftily  at 
Oswald. 

"  And  that  is — what,  Timm  .''  " 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  annual  income." 

Oswald  laughed. 

"A  very  prosaic  remedy  for  contempt  of  the  world." 

"  But  a  very  radical  one,  and  in  your  case  infallible." 

"  Why  exactly  in  my  case  .-*  " 

Timm  filled  the  glasses  once  more,  lighted  a  fresh 
cigar,  and  said : 

"Heine,  you  know,  divides  men  in  two  classes:  fat 
Grecians  and  lean  Nazarenes.  I  have  found  this  distinc- 
tion as  acute  as  true.  The  former  believe  in  Our  Lady 
of  Melos,  the  latter  worship  the  Virgin  Dolorosa.  The 
former  enjoy  the  good  things  of  life  in  cheerful  happi- 
ness; the  latter  prefer  a  grumbling  resignation  and 
meditative  asceticism.  In  order  that  both  classes  should 
be  right,  that  the  Grecians  should  be  able  to  live  well 
and  the  Nazarenes  pray  well,  the  former  must  have  an 
abundance  of  money,  and  the  latter  must  be  poor,  very 
poor  indeed." 

"  Before  you  go  on  with  your  exposition,  Timm,  tell  me 
first  to  which  of  the  two  classes  you  belong  yourself" 

"  To  both,  or  to  neither  of  the  two,  as  you  choose.  I  have 
the  good  digestion,  the  sound  teeth,  the  fine  perception 
— in  a  word,  the  desire  and  the  capacity  to  enjoy  which 
belongs  to  the  Grecians;  but  I  have  also  the  tenacity 
and  frugality  necessary  to  the  Nazarenes  for  the  practice 
of  their  peculiar  virtues.  I  have  the  invaluable  talent 
of  the  camel  to  be  able  to  thirst  a  long  time  without 
losing  heart  or  appetite;  on  the  contrary,   abstinence 


ipo  Through  Night  to  Light. 

only  serves  in  my  case  to  sharpen  the  appetite  and  to 
season  the  next  drink  more  attractively.  When  I  have 
travelled  through  the  desert,  and — as  just  now,  for  in- 
stance— the  branches  of  mimosas  and  the  fans  of  palm- 
trees  wave  over  me,  and  the  icy-cold  well — as  just  now, 
for  instance,  from  the  bottle — I  meant  to  say,  from  the 
rock — foams  and  purls — then  I  bend  my  long  camel's 
neck  and  drink  and  drink  and  drink,  and  bless  the 
dry,  brown  desert  which  has  led  me  to  such  a  delicious 
well." 

And  Mr.  Timm  poured  down  a  full  glass  of  cham- 
pagne with  the  hasty  eagerness  of  a  traveller  whose 
tongue  is  glued  to  the  palate. 

Oswald  watched  the  exulting  companion  who  sat 
opposite  to  him  with  a  peculiar  sense  of  pleasure,  not 
unmixed  with  envy.  How  sharp  and  bold,  and  yet  how 
fine  and  intelligent,  were  the  features  in  this  smooth,  al- 
most boyish  face !  How  Avell  that  haughty  supercilious- 
ness suited  him,  wliich  played  around  his  delicate  nos- 
trils and  curved  the  sharply-accented  red  lips !  How  the 
words  flew  from  these  lips,  swift  as  feathered  arrows, 
each  one  of  which  hits  the  bull's-eye  !  What  a  sovereign 
contempt  for  mere  phrases,  for  any  kind  of  ornament, 
for  all  those  rags  with  which  hypocrites  and  fools  try  to 
cover  their  nakedness!  How  eloquent  the  whole  bear- 
ing of  the  man,  his  head  thrown  boldly  back,  as  he  blew 
the  smoke  of  his  cigar  from  him,  or  as  he  took  the  bottle- 
from  the  cooler,  shook  it,  and  filled  again  and  again  his 
empty  glass  to  overflowing  !  How  light  the  burden  of 
life  seemed  to  be  to  this  man,  light  as  to  the  lion  who 
leaps  with  the  colt  in  his  teeth  swiftly  over  hedges  and 
ditches  ! 

Oswald  was  not  inclined  at  that  moment  to  cast  a 
glance  into  the  bottomless  abyss  of  selfishness  which 
lay  concealed  under  the  surface  of  this  humor,  dancing 
about  in  merry  waves.  The  time  and  the  place  were 
not  favorable  to  such  an  analysis.  He  felt  down  here, 
in  this  deep,  quiet  cellar,  with  its  dim,  mysterious  light 
of  two  small  candles,  as  if  he  were  thousands  of  miles 
away  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  He  had  come  here  to 
drink  himself  into  oblivion ;  he  had    succeeded  in  his 


Through  Night  to  Light.  191 

wishes.  His  brow  was  all  aglow,  as  he  followed  the 
example  of  his  companion  and  poured  down  glass  after 
glass.  He  had  not  felt  so  free  and  so  happy  for  a  long 
time  as  he  did  at  that  moment. 

"As  for  you,  now,  noble  knight,"  continued  Timm, 
"  you  are  a  Grecian,  without  the  means  of  being  so  at 
all  times,  and  without  the  gift  of  simply  transferring 
the  time  during  which  you  cannot  be  so  to  the  account 
of  the  future.  Instead  of  doing  that,  you  play  the  Naz- 
arene,  and  feel  just  as  happy  during  the  time  as  the 
eagle  whose  wings  and  claws  have  been  clipped,  and 
who  wears  a  chain  around  his  foot.  The  exuberant 
strength  which  you  cannot  employ  outwardly,  turns 
within  and  checks  the  normal  growth  of  your  nature, 
which  has  once  for  all  been  intended  for  enjoyment. 
This  is  not  the  first  time  I  call  your  attention  to  this 
contradiction  in  you.  Do  you  recollect  what  I  told  you 
already  at  Grenwitz  "i  You  hate  the  nobles,  you  hate  the 
rich,  you  hate  the  powerful,  because  the  ten  fingers  of  your 
hands  itch  with  a  desire  to  be  noble  and  rich  and  pow- 
erful yourself  Do  not  talk  to  me  of  your  moral  hum- 
bug of  the  nobility  of  mind,  the  wealth  of  a  pure  heart, 
and  the  power  of  truth  !  All  that  is  mere  stuff  for  those 
who  know  what  merchandise  is  sold  in  the  market  of 
life.  Pshaw  !  what  has  a  man  like  you  to  do  with  pov- 
erty— a  man  of  your  youth,  your  charms,  your  pretty 
face — for,  by  heaven,  Oswald,  you  are  a  handsome  fellow, 
a  man  whom  the  women  embrace  without  his  asking, 
a  man  of  thoroughly  aristocratic  tastes  and  tendencies ! 
It  is  simply  ridiculous!  You  ought  not  to  be  a  poor 
schoolmaster,  but  a  wealthy  baron,  like  those  Grenwitz' 
people  with  whom,  by  the  way,  you  have  a  most  striking 
resemblance;  then  you  could  enjoy  life,  and  afterwards 
blow  out  your  brains  with  some  show  of  reason ;  then 
you  could  marry  the  fair  Helen  ;  could  do,  in  a  word,  or 
not  do  whatever  you  liked !  That  is  why  I  say  again :  you 
want  an  income  of  ten  thousand  dollars.  I  wish  I  could 
get  it  for  you,  I  would  do  it,  and  were  I  to  take  them  I 
know  not  where." 

"  I  really  believe  you  were  capable  of  doing  it,  Timm." 
"  Why  not .''     And  if  it  were  only  from  curiosity  to  see 


192  Through  Night  to  Light. 

how  you  would  act  in  such  a  case  towards  your  old 
friend." 

"  I  would  do  with  the  mammon,  you  may  rest  assured 
of  that,  as  I  did  when  I  was  a  boy  with  the  cherries  peo- 
ple gave  me — I  would  share  it  with  my  friends." 

Albert  looked  fixedly  at  Oswald,  as  he  said  these 
words  with  flushed  cheek  and  raised  voice.  Suddenly 
he  said,  as  if  awaking  from  a  dream  : 

"I  am  a  curious  fellow,  Oswald;  as  sceptical  as  a 
heathen,  and  yet  as  fond  of  all  sorts  of  omens  as  an  old 
woman.  As  I  was  sitting  here  alone  eating  my  oysters, 
I  said  to  myself:  you  happen  to  have  a  few  dollars  in 
your  pocket  and  you  would  like  to  spend  them  with  a 
friend.  And  then  there  occurred  to  me,  as  to  Wallenstein, 
the  question  :  who  of  all  those  whom  I  meet  here  eve- 
ning after  evening  meant  it  best  and  most  honestly  }  and 
that  it  should  be  the  one  who  would  first  enter  at  the 
door.  But,  strange  enough,  contrary  to  all  the  customs 
of  the  place,  not  one  of  them  came.  Instead  of  that,  you 
came — you,  of  whom  I  had  not  thought  at  all.  Oswald, 
I  do  not  know  how  you  think  about  such  matters,  and  it 
may  be  that  my  request  will  offend  you,  but  I  should 
like  to  drink  with  you  to  our  future,  our  intimate  friend- 
ship.    What  do  you  say.'*  " 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  cried  Oswald.  "  There  is  just 
one  more  glass  for  each  of  us  in  the  bottle." 

"  And  no  one  shall  ever  drink  again  out  of  this  glass !  " 
cried  Albert,  and  threw  the  empty  glass  on  the  floor. 

Oswald  did  the  same ;  but  the  noise  of  the  breaking 
glasses  sounded  shrill  and  painful  to  his  ear,  like  the 
laughter  of  delighted  demons. 

Bald  Charles,  who  had  sat  behind  his  counter  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hall,  nodding,  started  up  when  he  heard 
the  noise,  and  came  gliding  up,  drunk  with  sleep,  think- 
ing they  had  called  him. 

"How  is  it,  Oswald,"  cried  Timm;  "I  think  we  had 
better  have  another  bottle.  We  sliall  not  meet  again 
as  young  as  we  are  now." 

"No,"  said  Oswald;  "let  us  be  content.  My  head 
burns.  And  I  have  to  call,  to-morrow,  on  Tom,  Dick, 
and  Harry.     Wliat  is  to  pay }  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  193 

"  Stop !  "  cried  Mr.  Timm,  holding  Oswald's  arm. 
"  ]Mine  is  the  helmet,  and  it  belongs  to  me !  Carole,  if 
you  accept  a  red  cent  from  this  gentleman,  I  break 
this  empty  bottle  on  your  bald  skull!  Come!  Make 
yourself  paid  out  of  this  rag  for  to-night  and  for  the  last 
nights ;  and  what  remains  over,  why  you  can  buy  your- 
self on  the  way  a  wig  with  it,  my  Carole !  " 

With  these  words  Timm  had  drawn  a  twenty-five  dol- 
lar note  from  a  bulky  parcel  which  he  took  from  his 
coat-pocket,  and  handed  it  to  the  waiter,  who  seemed  to 
be  not  a  little  astonished  at  this  sudden  wealth  in  the 
hands  of  one  of  his  very  worst  customers.  At  least  he 
grinned  in  a  very  peculiar  manner  as  he  took  the  note, 
while  Mr.  Timm  put  back  the  package  with  an  air  of 
perfect  indifference,  and  tilting  his  hat  on  his  head,  sang  : 

"  I  am  the  last  of  guests  to-night, 
Come  show  me  out  of  the  house  ! 
And  we  wish  each  other  good-night, 
I  take  a  kiss  from  my  little  mouse  !  " 

They  were  standing  outside  in  the  street.  The  mist 
had  disappeared  entirely,  and  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly  on  the  dark  sky.  The  lamps  had  gone  out,  and 
deep  shadows  alternated  with  broad  streaks  of  light  in 
the  narrow  streets  between  the  high  gable-ends.  A 
watchman  standing  at  the  corner  with  his  long  spear 
and  antediluvian  horn,  called  out  the  twelfth  hour. 
Nothing  else  was  to  be  seen  in  the  death-like  streets 
through  which  Oswald  and  Albert  were  now  walking 
home,  arm  in  arm,  as  it  became  such  good  and  intimate 
friends  :  Oswald  unusually  heated  and  excited,  Albert 
as  cool  and  fresh  as  if  he  had  been  drinking  nothing 
but  water  in  the  city  cellars  at  Grunwald.  They  talked 
over  the  members  of  the  town  council  and  of  the  college 
on  whom  Oswald  had  to  wait  the  next  day,  and  Oswald's 
career  at  the  college  especially,  which  Albert  declared 
Avas  a  fabulous  idea,  such  as  no  one  could  have  conceived 
but  a  Knight  of  La  Mancha.  Thus  they  reached  the  door 
of  the  hotel,  then  they  wished  each  other  good-night. 
Oswald  went  in  ;  Albert  lounged  down  the  main  street, 
his  hands  in  his  trousers.  But  suddenly  he  stopped  and 
seemed  to  meditate  for  a  while.     Then  he  turned  into 


194  Through  Night  to  Light. 

a  by-street  and  vanished  in  a  labyrinth  of  lanes  and 
courts,  formed  by  rheumatic  little  cottages,  whose  exte- 
rior did  not  belie  the  reputation  enjoyed  by  this  part 
of  the  town. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE  official  dwelling  of  the  rector  of  the  college, 
Doctor  Moritz  Clemens,  was  shining  to-night  in 
unwonted  splendor.  They  had  not  only  re- 
moved the  covers  from  all  the  sofas,  sofa-cushions,  and 
chairs,  in  the  best  room  and  the  sitting-room,  so  that 
the  luxurious  light  of  two  lamps  and  half  a  dozen 
stearine  candles  poured  in  floods  over  the  displayed 
magnificence ;  but  even  the  rector's  study,  on  one  side, 
and  the  sitting-room  and  chamber  of  the  two  daughters, 
on  the  other  side,  had  been  changed  into  salons  by  remov- 
ing the  writing-table  in  the  one,  and  the  beds  in  the 
other,  while  each  was  lighted  up  with  a  lamp  and  three 
candles.  The  aromatic  fragrance  which  always  rises 
when  incense  is  strewn  on  the  hot-plate  of  the  stove, 
perfumed  all  the  rooms,  and  sufficed  in  itself  to  produce 
a  festive  excitement  in  every  well-regulated  mind. 

The  Clemens  family  is  in  grand  gala,  and  awaits  the 
guests  who  are  to  come.  The  Clemens  family  consists 
of  four  persons :  father,  mother,  and  two  grown  daugh- 
ters. Rector  Clemens  is  a  man  of  fifty  years,  who  must 
have  been  very  handsome  in  his  youth,  and  who  may 
still  pass  for  very  good-looking.  He  wears  his  curly 
brown  hair  very  long,  and,  contrary  to  all  fashion,  his 
collar  turned  down  d  la  Byron  over  a  loosely-tied  hand- 
kerchief, which  gives  him,  in  connection  with  a  some- 
what vague  softness  of  his  features,  an  ideal,  not  to  say 
an  effeminate  expression.  He  is  fully  conscious  of  the 
soft  character  of  his  appearance,  and  does  all  he  can  to 
heighten  the  effect.  His  speech  is  soft,  his  voice  is  soft, 
his  movements  are  soft.  "I  am  called  Clemens,  and  I 
try  to  do  honor  to  my  name,"  he  is  accustomed  to  say, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  195 

modestly,  whenever  anybody  compliments  him  on  the 
"  perfect  humanity  "  of  his  manner  and  his  appearance. 
"  Humanity  "  is  his  pet  word.  The  learned  world  knows 
him  as  the  author  of  a  moral  philosophical  work, 
"  Purification  of  Man  towards  Perfect  Humanity;  "  and 
the  public  at  large  through  his  dramatic  poem,  "  John 
at  Patmos,"  which  has  appeared  in  a  second  edition  in 
the  bookstores  of  the  University  of  Grunwald,  and  bears 
the  motto,  ^^  Homo  sum,  nih'd humani  mihi  alienum puto.'' 

Mrs.  Rector  Clemens  is,  at  least  in  her  outward  ap- 
pearance, a  perfect  contrast  to  her  husband.  Her  figvire 
rises  far  beyond  the  ordinary  size,  and  is  broad  and 
strong.  The  features  of  her  face  are  proportionately 
heavy  and  massive  ;  her  voice  is  a  tolerably  deep  bass,  and 
her  movements  and  manners  remind  you  forcibly  of  a 
vessel  rolling  in  a  trough  of  the  sea.  She  is  indeed  the 
daughter  of  a  captain  of  a  mail  steamer,  and  has  made  in 
her  young  days  twice  the  voyage  to  the  Indies.  It  is 
hard  to  understand  why  her  etherealizing  husband  with 
his  enthusiasm  for  Hogarth's  line  of  beauty,  should  have 
chosen  her  above  all  others,  and  the  only  explanation  is 
to  be  found  in  that  mysterious  affinity  which  unites  the 
strong  and  the  weak,  the  stern  and  the  gentle.  The  con- 
trast between  the  two  characters,  however,  does  not  ap- 
pear quite  so  striking  upon  closer  observation.  The 
husband  has  succeeded  in  lending  short  w^ngs  to  the 
somewhat  clumsy  psyche  of  his  wife.  He  has  talked  to 
her  so  much  about  true  humanity,  that  she  is  determined 
to  become  aesthetic  in  spite  of  her  colossal  size,  and  to  be 
refined  in  spite  of  her  defective  education.  She  reads  a 
good  deal,  although  she  does  not  understand  it  all ;  and 
she  is  the  founder  and  manager  of  a  dramatic  club,  al- 
though she  has  never  been  able  to  distinguish  very  clearly 
between  a  dative  and  an  accusative. 

The  two  Misses  Clemens  are  eighteen  and  nineteen 
years  old,  and  enjoy  the  beautiful  old  German  names  of 
Thurnelda  and  Fredegunda.  The  latter  resembles  her 
mother,  Thurnelda  her  father,  but  the  difference  in  charac- 
ter, which  the  common  longing  after  humanity  has  nearly 
effaced  in  the  parents,  is  still  very  perceptible  in  the 
daughters.      They  quarrel  very  frequently,  are  almost 


196  Through  Night  to  Light. 

always  of  different  opinions,  and  resemble  each  other 
only  in  one  point — the  very  high  opinion  they  entertain 
of  themselves. 

"  It  seems  to  me  our  dear  guests  keep  us  waiting 
rather  long,"  said  Rector  Clemens,  looking  at  his  watch 
for  the  twelfth  time  in  the  last  twelve  minutes,  as  he 
nervously  walked  up  and  down  in  the  room. 

"  I  cannot  comprehend  why  the  good  people  don't 
come,"  said  Mrs.  Rector  Clemens,  sitting  down  for  a 
moment  on  the  sofa  and  wiping  her  heated  brow  with 
her  handkerchief.  "  I  had  asked  Doctor  Stein  expressly 
to  be  sure  to  come  before  seven,  because  I  wanted  to 
read  his  part  over  with  him." 

"Will  he  be  able  to  read  the  Captain  ?"  said  Miss 
Fredegunda  Clemens  from  the  adjoining  room,  where 
she  was  busy  with  her  dress  before  a  mirror. 

"  He'll  read  it  at  least  as  well  as  Broadfoot,"  replied 
Miss  Thurnelda  in  an  irritated  tone. 

"  But,  children,  surely  you  are  not  going  to  quarrel 
now,"  said  the  mother,  trying  to  appease  them. 

"  Fredegunda  cannot  stop  teasing  me,"  said  Thurnelda. 

"  And  you  are  always  trying  to  be  better  than  every- 
body else,"  said  Fredegunda,  appearing  in  the  door. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  children,  I  pray  you,  keep  quiet," 
cries  Doctor  Clemens,  with  imploring  voice,  raising 
his  hands  as  if  in  prayer ;  "  I  hear  somebody  in  the 
passage." 

The  door  was  really  opened  at  that  moment  by  a  maid, 
and  in  walk  Professor  Snellius,  Mrs.  Professor  Snellius, 
and  Miss  Ida  Snellius. 

The  broken  peace  of  the  Clemens  family  is  immedi- 
ately restored.  They  receive  the  new-comers  as  heartily 
as  people  who  have  worl'ced  their  way  to  genuine  hu- 
manity are  apt  to  welcome  their  friends. 

Professor  Snellius,  teacher  of  the  first  form  and  cor- 
rector, a  man  of  some  forty  years,  aspired,  like  Rector 
Clemens,  and  perhaps  even  more  energetically,  to  the 
ideal,  and  was  perhaps  even  more  favored  in  these  efforts 
by  his  outward  appearance.  While  the  beauty  of  Rector 
Clemens  had  something  vague  about  it,  the  character 
imprinted  on  the  clear  features  of  Professor  Snellius  Avas 


Through  Night  to  Light.  197 

unmistakable;  even  the  most  maliciovis  critic  could  not 
have  denied  that  he  bore  a  more  than  passing  resemblance 
to  his  favorite  poet,  Schiller.  His  admirers  found  in  him 
the  same  boldly-curved  nose,  with  the  electric  spasms 
around  the  nostrils,  the  same  earnestness,  the  same  maj- 
esty, the  same  tall  form,  which,  however,  was  not  dressed 
in  ideal  costume,  bvit  yielded  so  far  to  the  demands 
of  the  time  as  to  submit  to  a  plain  black  suit,  in  which 
the  painful  neatness  is  interrupted  only  by  the  spotless 
white  of  a  somewhat  tight  cravat.  Professor  Snellius 
is  a  pedagogue  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word.  His 
erudition  is  literally  overwhelming.  He  teaches  all  the 
modern  languages,  Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew,  Sanscrit,  and 
is  not  quite  unacquainted  even  with  Chinese,  which  he 
reads  in  his  leisure  hours.  He  is  enthusiastic  about  the 
young  and  his  vocation  as  a  teacher  of  the  young.  He 
has  proclaimed  his  views  on  this  most  important  task, 
and  his  propositions  how  to  solve  its  problems  in  the 
best  manner,  in  his  voluminous  work  :  "  History  of  Edu- 
cation among  the  West  Asiatic  Nations  prior  to  the 
times  of  Rhamses  the  Great."  The  motto  of  this  work, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  professor's  own  motto,  is: 
"  Through  struggle  to  victory !  "  Professor  Snellius  looks 
soberly  upon  life,  and  stammers  a  little  whenever  he 
becomes  excited,  as  very  frequently  happens  to  him, 
about  the  want  of  ideal  enthusiasm  in  his  pupils,  or 
about  any  other  of  his  favorite  subjects. 

Mrs.  Professor  Snellius  is  a  little  lady  who  would  be 
insignificant  if  she  were  not  the  wife  of  such  a  very 
great  scholar.  Miss  Ida  Snellius  is  an  exceedingly  tail 
and  exceedingly  awkward  girl  of  sixteen,  who  looks 
marvellously  like  her  father,  and  has  the  reputation  of 
having  inherited  largely  tlae  erudition  of  her  father. 
She  likes  to  converse  with  highly-educated  gentlemen — 
with  others  she  does  not  speak  at  all^ — of  comparative 
philology,  and  of  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt,  and  is  re- 
ported to  have  read  through  the  twelve  volumes  of  her 
father's  famous  work.  This  report,  however,  is  so  mon- 
strous, that  its  truth  may  well  be  doubted. 

The  long-drawn  salutations  between  the  families 
Clemens  and  Snellius  had  not  yet  come  to  an  end,  when 


ipS  Through  Night  to  Light. 

the  door  opened  once  more  to  admit  Dr.  Kubel  with 
wife  and  daughter.  Kubel  teaches  the  third  form,  and  is 
a  round,  jovial  little  man,  with  a  smoothly-shaven  face, 
and  white,  well-kept  hands — so  round  and  so  jovial  that 
our  days  no  longer  produce  the  like,  and  tliat  theyAvere 
found  only  in  the  peaceful,  stagnant  waters  of  the  period 
from  the  Congress  of  Vienna  to  the  year  1848,  in  out- 
of-the-way  colleges  and  other  quiet  districts  of  quiet  Ger- 
many. His  voice  is  loud  and  squeaking,  and  reminds 
you,  as  the  figure  of  the  man  himself  did,  of  the  harmless 
dwellers  of  morasses.  His  erudition  is  not  remarka- 
ble. Scoffers  maintain  that  his  only  merit  as  a  philolo, 
gist  consists  in  his  having  a  very  pretty  daughter.  Mary 
Kubel  is  indeed  a  very  pretty,  brown-eyed  girl,  ever 
cheerful  and  ready  to  laugh,  who  is  unspeakably  des- 
pised by  the  Misses  Snellius  and  Clernens  ;  by  the  for- 
mer because  she  has  once  confounded  Alexander  and 
William  von  Humboldt ;  and  by  the  latter  because  she 
has  no  idea  of  reading  dramatic  compositions.  To-day 
she  especially  roused  the  indignation  of  Thurnelda  and 
Fredegunda,  because  she  arrived  at  the  same  time  with 
the  two  doctors,  Winimer  and  Broadfoot,  and  therefore 
has  the  appearance  of  having  them  in  her  train.  Now 
Thurnelda  and  Fredegunda  are  accustomed  to  claim  the 
attentions  of  these  two  gentlemen  as  their  own  exclu- 
sive right,  and  that  not  without  reason,  for  Mr.  Wini- 
mer wears  now  for  about  six  months  a  lock  of  Thur- 
nelda's  hair  near  his  heart,  and  exhibits  it  in  sentimental 
moments  to  his  intimate  friends,  threatening  them  with 
fearful  disgrace  if  they  should  ever,  ever  betray  him ;  and 
Mr.  Broadfoot  has  lost  at  least  a  dozen  philippines,  and, 
as  some  say,  with  them  his  heart,  to  Fredegunda,  during 
the  six  months  since  he  received  his  appointment  at  the 
college.  Doctor  Winimer  is  a  slender  young  man  of 
medium  size,  whose  tact  in  the  intercourse  with  the  fair 
sex  is  a  proverb  among  his  colleagues,  and  who  is  al- 
ways in  more  or  less  nervous  excitement — tlianks,  no 
doubt,  to  the  many  delicate  relations  in  which  he  stands, 
and  of  which  he  speaks  in  mysterious  terms.  Doctor 
Broadfoot  is  a  gentleman  whom  a  stranger  might  take 
for  a  butcher,  and  who  is  the   continual   butt  of  his 


Through  Night  to  Light.  199 

friends,  on  account  of  his  enormous  hands  and  feet,  and 
his  ordinary  manners. 

"  Now,  our  club  is  nearly  assembled,"  says  Rector 
Clemens,  rubbing  his  hands  softly  and  raising  his  voice 
moderately.  "  Our  dear  guests  alone  have  not  come 
yet." 

"Our  guests,  dear  coIlcgaV  says  Professor  Snellius. 
"  I  thought  the  question  was  in  the  singularis  of 
hospcs  ?  " 

'■'■  Minime !''  smiled  the  rector.  "I  have  prepared  a 
dual,  yes,  I  may  say  a  plural  of  surprises  for  you  to-night, 
gentlemen  and  ladies.  There  will  be  two  new  guests 
here,  besides  our  new  colleague,  of  whom  I  expect  great 
things  for  our  social  intercourse.  Can  you  guess  who 
they  are  1 " 

"  But,  Moritz,  it  was  to  be  a  surprise !  "  says  Mrs. 
Clemens,  in  a  reproachful  tone. 

"  I  think,  my  dear,  it  is  better  to  prepare  the  club 
beforehand.  Is  it  not  our  wish  to  receive  the  persons 
in  question,  not  only  as  our  guests  for  to-night,  but  to 
win  them  permanently  over  for  our  little  club;  and 
for  that  purpose,  you  know,  we  must  have  the  con- 
sent of  all  the  members,  according  to  the  regulations 
which  you  have  prepared  yourself." 

"  Who  is  it,  rector.?  "  asked  Doctor  Winimer.  "You 
torture  us." 

"  A  gentleman  whose  name  has  a  good  sound  in  the 
republic  of  letters,  and  a  lady  who  will  be  of  special 
interest  for  you,  Collega  Winimer,  in  your  capacity  as  lyric 
poet .?  " 

"A  lady.-*  "  cried  Mr.  Winimer,  passing  his  hand 
through  his  carefully-arranged  hair,  his  pride  and  his 
ornament,  a  gesture  for  which  he  receives  his  punish- 
ment immediately  in  a  reproving  glance  from  the  lady 
whose  lock  he  wears  upon  his  heart. 

"Yes;  a  lady,  a  highly-gifted  lyric  talent." 

"  No  doubt,  Primula ;  I  mean  Mrs.  Professor  Jager  !  " 
cries  Mr.  Winimer. 

"  You  have  guessed  it ;  the  poetess  of  the  *  Cornflowers ' 

nd  the  interpreter  of  the  fragments  of  Chrysophilos, 

will  appear  to-night  as  stars,  and,  we  hope,  be  willing  to 


200  Through  Night  to  Light. 

accept  a  permanent  engagement  hereafter,"  said  Rector 
Clemens,  with  his  softest  smile. 

A  long-drawn,  unisonous  "Ah!"  of  astonishment, 
testified  to  the  interest  felt  by  the  company  in  this 
announcement. 

"  I  had  another  reason,  besides,  why  I  invited  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Jager  to-night,"  continues  the  rector;  "it  was,  so 
to  say,  a  consideration  of  humanity  for  our  new  col- 
league, Doctor  Stein.  He  is  an  entire  stranger  in  our 
circle,  and  seems  to  be  remarkably  shy,  embarrassed, 
and  little  accustomed  to  move  in  larger  circles.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Jager,  he  told  me  himself  this  morning,  are 
old  acquaintances  of  his — from  the  time  when  he  was  a 
tutor,  I  believe — and  he  will  no  doubt  be  glad  to  meet 
to-night  among  so  many  strange  or  nearly  strange  faces, 
at  least  a  few  old  friends." 

"  This  delicate  attention  does  you  honor,  coHcga,'" 
says  Professor  Snellius,  pressing  the  rector's  hand,  and 
displaying  in  the  act  the  elegiac  feature  near  the  nos- 
trils. 

"  But  I  think,  Mrs.  Clemens,  the  parts  have  all  been 
distributed,"  says  Doctor  Winimer,  who  is  to  read" 
"  Max,"  and  is  all  the  more  opposed  to  any  change 
of  programme,  as  his  beloved  Thurnelda  reads  the 
"Thekla,"  and  he  has  spent  four  weeks' arduous  study 
upon  learning  his  part. 

"  I  have  given  Doctor  Stein  the  Captain,  who  was  not 
yet  given  out,"  says  Mrs.  Clemens,  in  the  tone  of  one 
not  accustomed  to  contradiction,  and  allows  no  opposi- 
tion. "  That  is  a  very  nice  part,  and  he  can  show  to-night 
whether  he  can  read  or  not.  I  should  have  liked,  to  be 
sure,  to  read  it  over  with  him,  but  he  must  look  out  for 
himself  now.  As  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jager,  I  have  given 
them  the  Devereux  and  MacDonald,  who  were  still  va- 
cant." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Clemens,"  squeaked  Doctor  Kubel, 
"do  you  really  think  those  parts  are  quite  suitable  for 
our  new  friends  at  their  first  debut }  " 

"  Why  not,  dear  doctor.?"  asks  the  manager,  with  a 
frown  of  impatience. 

"  I  only  think  they  will  hardly  like  it  particularly  to 


Through  Night  to  Light.  201 

make  their  first  appearance  among  us  as  murderers,"  says 
Doctor  Kubel. 

The  lady  manager,  whose  brow  has  become  darker 
and  darker  as  her  jocose  guest  speaks,  is  about  to  reply, 
but  is  prevented  from  doing  so,  for  the  door  opens  at 
that  moment  in  order  to  admit  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Professor 
(ex-pastor)  Jager  into  the  room. 

The  noble  pair  have  not  left  the  "  lowly  roof"  and  the 
"country  fields  "  behind  them  without  a  change  which 
might  possibly  escape  the  careless  observer,  but  which 
the  sharper  eye  would  at  once  discern  in  many  a  charac- 
teristic symptom.  Professor  Jager  knows  but  too  well 
the  use  which  the  mask  of  humility,  of  modesty,  and  un- 
pretending simplicity  has  rendered  Pastor  Jager,  to  lay 
it  aside  now  when  he  has  barely  reached  half  of  his  am- 
bitious end.  He  has  only  aired  it  a  little,  and  he  who 
has  eyes  to  see,  can  at  times  very  clearly  discern  under- 
neath, his  true  face,  marked  with  the  double  impress  of 
the  scholar's  conceit  and  the  priest's  pride.  Mrs.  Jager 
affords  the  same  sight,  only  translated  into  childish  and 
foolish  words.  The  author  of  the  "  Cornflowers  "  has  the 
air  of  a  person  who  expects  every  moment  an  effusion 
of,  overwhelming  praise,  and  is  quite  determined  to  de- 
precate it.  If  the  appearance  of  the  professor  reminds 
one  of  the  well-known  wolf  in  sheep's  clothes,  and  one 
cannot  very  well  feel  quite  safe  in  his  neighborhood,  his 
wife's  appearance  recalls  the  familiar  crow,  who  thought 
herself  Juno's  owm  bird,  and  it  requires  an  effort  to  re 
main  serious.  The  change  in  the  outward  appearance 
is  less  perceptible ;  the  interpreter  of  Chrysophilos  has 
exchanged  his  plain  glasses  in  horn  with  a  pair  of  gold 
spectacles,  and  Primula  wears  in  her  golden  hair  a  few 
artistic  imitations  of  those  blue  flowers  that  have  fur- 
nished her  with  a  title  for  her  poems.  Both  hold  in 
their  hands  a  copy  of  Wallenstein,  full  of  joyous  antici- 
pations, hoping  to  carry  off  the  honors  of  the  evening 
by  their  masterly  declamation,  and  without  the  most  re- 
mote suspicion  of  the  mortal  insult  which  is  to  be  in- 
flicted upon  their  pride  during  the  next  ten  minutes. 

Full  of  hope  and  free  of  suspicion  they  enter  the 
room,  welcome  the  "  highly-honored  landlord  and  land- 
9* 


202  Through  Night  to  Light. 

lady,"  and  greet  the  younger  gentlemen  of  the  college, 
who  are  formally  introduced.  This  is  the  first  large 
party  at  which  they  appear  since  their  triumphant 
return  to  Grunwald.  Rector  Clemens  is  known  for  the 
intelligent  and  interesting  company  he  has  at  his  house; 
he  surpasses  in  this  the  other  professors  of  the  univer- 
sity even,  unless  it  be  Privy  Councillor  Roban,  Avhose 
parties,  however,  do  not  consume  half  as  much  poetical 
sentiment.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jager  are  determined  that  this 
circle  shall  soon  be  only  the  nebular  preparation  for  the 
brilliant  light  of  their  own  superiority. 

"  Ah !  my  worthy  friend,"  says  Professor  Jager,  after 
having  saluted  Clemens  and  Snellius,  to  Doctor  Kubel, 
under  whom  he  has  been  sitting  as  pupil,  pressing  the 
fat,  white  hands  with  great  warmth ;  "  how  delighted  I  am 
to  meet  you,  my  highly  esteemed  teacher,  and  to  see  you 
in  such  excellent  health !  Indeed,  one  might  say  of  you 
as  of  Wallenstein,  that  the  swift  years  have  passed  over 
your  brown  hair  without  leaving  a  trace.  Indeed, 
indeed,  7ncns  sana  in  co-pore  sano.  I  learnt  that  from  you, 
but  you  have  practised  what  you  taught.  Doctor  Wini- 
mer,  I  rejoice  exceedingly  to  make  your  personal 
acquaintance;  both  myself  and  my  wife  have  known 
you  long  and  held  you  dear,  through  your  charming 
*  Mayflowers.'  Permit  me  to  present  you  to  my  wife ; 
I  should  like  to  see  the  Cornflowers  and  the  Mayflowers 
bound  vip  in  a  bouquet,  ha,  ha,  ha !  Doctor  Broadfoot, 
I  am  happy  to  meet  a  man  of  science,  of  your  great  merit. 
Your  admirable  monographs  on  Origens  and  Eusebius 
have  rendered  me  essential  service  in  writing  my  Frag- 
ments. I  am  glad  to  be  able,  at  last,  to  thank  you  in 
person." 

While  Professor  Jager  was  thus  making  the  round, 
winding  snake-like  through  the  circle  of  the  gentlemen. 
Primula  flitted  sylph-like  through  the  circle  of  ladies. 
She  had,  like  the  "maiden  from  afar,"  a  gift  for  every 
one.  She  pays  a  compliment  to  the  elder  ladies.  She 
envies  Thurnelda  and  Fredegunda  their  "  charming, 
highly-poetical  "  names;  she  congratulates  Ida  Snellius 
on  her  progress  in  Portuguese,  and  pats  Mary  Kubel 
on  the  blushing  cheeks  and  calls  her  a  dear,  sweet  child. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  203 

"  But  our  colleague  comes  really  a  little  too  late,"  says 
Rector  Clemens,  looking  at  his  watch.  "I  think,  Au- 
gusta, we  might  have  tea." 

"  Whom  do  you  expect,  my  dear  sir  .?  "  asks  Professor 
Jager  of  the  rector. 

"  Whose  foot  did  not  yet  cross  this  threshold  .''  "  asks 
Primula,  who  is  full  of  reminiscences  of  Wallenstein, 
of  the  lady  manager. 

At  the  very  moment,  when  the  professor  and  his  wife 
are  about  to  answer  these  questions,  the  door  opens  and 
Oswald's  tall  form  appears  in  the  frame. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

WHEN  the  last  comer  at  a  party  enters  the  room 
at  last,  he  always  excites  a  certain  sensation  in 
the  assembled  company,  especially  when,  as  was 
here  the  case,  the  arrival  of  the  guest  has  been  looked 
for  with  some  curiosity.  Oswald  was  a  perfect  stran- 
ger to  the  whole  circle.  His  only  acquaintance  was 
the  rector,  with  whom  he  had  officially  met.  The  other 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  belonging  to  the  college,  he  had 
perhaps  seen  now  and  then  in  company  during  his 
former  residence  in  Grunwald,  but  without  noticing 
them  or  being  noticed  by  them.  When  he  had  paid  his 
visits  during  the  day,  he  had  found  nobody  at  home 
except  the  Kubel  family.  The  gentlemen  were  curious 
to  see  their  new  colleague,  the  older  ladies  the  young 
man  who  might  possibly  become  one  of  these  days 
their  son-in-law,  and  the  young  ladies  the  new  acquisi- 
tion for  their  social  meetings — all  were  ready  to  exam- 
ine him  and  to  criticize.  Thus  there  followed  a  pause 
in  the  merry  conversation,  as  he  entered,  and  he  had  to 
encounter  the  eyes  of  the  whole  company. 

Undismayed  by  this  cross-fire  of  glances,  Oswald  ap- 
proached Mrs.  Clemens,  kissed  her  hand,  excused  his 
late  arrival,  and  begged  her  to  present  him  to  the  other 


204  Through  Night  to  Light. 

ladies,  whom  he  was  not  yet  fortunate  enough  to  know. 
After  this  ceremony  had  been  performed  in  due  form,  he 
begged  the  rector  in  like  manner  to  make  him  acquainted 
with  the  gentlemen  ;  then  he  turned  again  to  the  ladies 
to  pay  a  few  compliments  to  his  hostess,  and  at  last  to 
Primula,  who  immediately  entered  upon  a  lively  con- 
versation with  marked  eagerness.  Primula  had  taken 
Oswald  from  the  first  moment  into  her  poetic  heart,  on 
account  of  his  "  fair,  chevalieresque,  and  truly  romantic 
appearance,"  as  she  called  it,  and  all  the  admonitions  of 
her  husband  had  not  been  able  permanently  to  arrest 
the  current  of  her  sympathetic  sentiments.  She  had,  to 
be  sure,  paid  due  respect  in  the  country  to  existing  cir- 
cumstances, and  dropped  the  fallen  greatness,  but  she 
had  determined  in  her  heart  to  follow  the  impulse  of 
her  soul  freely  whenever  she  should  be  able  to  let  her 
captive  psyche  fly  with  untrammelled  wings.  That  mo- 
ment had  come  now ;  she  greeted  Oswald,  who  had  be- 
come more  interesting  than  ever  to  her  through  his  "  ex- 
ceedingly romantic  catastrophe  at  Castle  Grenwitz," 
with  the  double  warmth  of  friendship  and  of  admiration. 
Oswald,  however,  who  was  determined,  if  possible,  to 
make  himself  acceptable  to  all  the  ladies,  could  not  be 
kept  long  by  all  the  charms  of  the  poetess ;  he  talked 
seriously  with  the  elderly  ladies,  he  teased  the  younger 
ones,  and  after  ten  minutes  he  seemed  to  have  accom- 
plished his  end. 

In  the  meantime  he  had  been  carefully  watched  by  the 
gentlemen,  who  had  gathered  around  Professor  Jager. 
The  interpreter  of  the  fragments  of  Chrysophilos  hated 
Oswald  with  a  very  hearty  hatred.  Oswald  had  never 
paid  the  vain  man  the  attention  which  he  claimed,  and 
had  even  treated  him  with  undisguised  contempt,  es- 
pecially during  the  latter  part  of  his  stay  at  Grenwitz. 
Professor  Jager  had  never  forgotten  the  insult  offered 
to  Pastor  Jager,  and  waited  only  for  a  suitable  occasion 
to  pay  off  the  long  accumulated  debt.  He  was,  how- 
ever, far  too  clever  and  too  cowardly  to  come  out  with 
it  openly,  as  the  gentlemen  of  the  college  now  questioned 
him  about  Oswald,  whom  he  declared  he  knew  perfectly. 
He  contented  himself  with   mysterious   hints,  as  :    "a 


Through  Night  to  Light.  205 

young  man,  about  whom  much  might  be  said — you  will 
see  yourselves,  gentlemen — I  only  hope  he  has  grown 
more  prudent  in  the  meantime  ;  hem  !  hem  !  You  know 
he  is  one  of  Berger's  pet  pupils.  Well,  Berger  is  a  re- 
markable man,  a  brilliant  man  ;  but  he  is  at  the  asylum 
in  Fichtenan,  and  we  see  once  more  that  'all  is  not  gold 
that  glitters;'  hem  !  hem  !  "  These  and  similar  words  fell 
like  poisonous  malaria  vipon  the  harmless  souls  of  the 
schoolmen. 

"  If  we  had  known  that,  collega!  "  said  Rector  Clemens 
secretly  to  Professor  Snellius. 

Professor  Snellius  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  re- 
plied, 

"  I  hope  much  from  the  advantages  he  will  have  in 
his  intercourse  with  us.  The  acquai  ntance  of  really  well- 
bred,  learned " 

"  Truly  humane,"  supplied  the  rector. 

"  Truly  humane  men,"  continued  the  professor,  "  is 
the  best  training  for  genuine  culture  and  erudition " 

"And  humanity,"  supplied  the  rector. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  new  colleague,  Winimer .?  " 
asked  Doctor  Broadfoot,  who  had  noticed  with  great 
disgust  how  merrily  Miss  Fredegunda,  who  generally 
distinguished  herself  by  a  certain  morose  reserve,  was 
now  chatting  and  laughing  with  Oswald. 

"  I  believe  the  gentleman  is  a  great  dandy,"  replied 
Mr.  Winimer,  passing  his  hand  through  his  hair.  "  He 
has  a  way  of  bending  over  ladies  in  their  chairs  which 
is  downright  intolerable.  I  am  afraid  we  shall  never 
be  good  friends." 

"But  that  is  too  bad,"  cried  Mr.  Broadfoot,  and  ad- 
vanced with  the  intention  to  interrupt  the  conversation 
between  Oswald  and  Fredegunda,  but  he  lost  his  cour- 
age on  the  way;  and  in  order  to  mask  the  unsuccessful 
attack,  he  took  a  cup  of  tea  from  the  waiter  which  a 
maid  presented  to  him,  and  then,  cup  in  hand,  he  re- 
mained standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  the  picture 
of  helpless  embarrassment. 

He  was  fortunately  soon  relieved  by  the  question  of 
the  lady  manager,  whether  they  should  now  begin  the 
reading  of  Wallenstein — the  original  purpose  of  their 


2o6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

meeting — and  the  invitation  to  follow  her  into  the  ad- 
joining room. 

"  In  which  part  will  you,  madame,  give  us  an  exam- 
ple ?  "  asked  Oswald.  "  But  why  do  I  ask  ?  There  is 
in  Wallenstein  only  one  part  for  you,  as  in  this  company 
there  is  but  one  lady  fit  for  that  part — yourself!  " 

"  You  are  jesting,"  said  the  poetess,  tapping  him  gently 
on  the  arm  with  the  book  which  she  was  holding  in  her 
hand  ;  "  why  should  I  have  any  privilege  .'  " 

"  But,  surely,  there  can  be  but  one  opinion  about  this — 
that  the  most  poetical  character  in  the  piece  ought  to  be 
represented  by  the  most  poetical  character  in  the  com- 
pany ;  and  again,  there  can  be  but  one  opinion  as  to  who 
that  is." 

"  And  who — ha !  I  will  try  to  overcome  my  childish 
bashfulness — who  could  that  be  1 "  asked  Primula,  with 
melting  voice,  raising  her  eyes  in  sweet  anticipation  to 
Oswald. 

"  Permit  me  for  a  moment  the  copy  you  are  holding 
in  your  hand.  Thanks  !  I  see  there  is  a  mark.  Let  us 
see  where  it  is.  '  Act  Third. — Scene  First. — Countess 
Terzky:  Thebla,  Fraulein  von  Neubrunn.'  Thebla  un- 
der-scored.    I  thank  you,  Thebla!  " 

"  That  is  an  accident,"  cried  the  blushing  poetess, 
pressing  the  book,  which  Oswald  handed  back  to  her 
with  an  ironical  bow,  to  her  bosom.  I  swear  it  to  you 
by  the  nine  Muses,  it  is  an  accident." 

"  And  I  swear  by  father  Apollo  himself,  and  by  all  the 
other  Olympians  besides,  that  I  believe  in  no  accident, 
at  least  only  in  the  most  fortunate  accident  which  has 
led  me  to-night  once  more  into  the  company  of — may  I 
venture  to  say  so — of  a  friend." 

"  If  you  may  say  so !  "  cried  the  poetess,  tenderly  press- 
ing Oswald's  arm  with  her  own  ;  "  if  you  may  say  so  ! 
Oh  believe  me,  Mr.  Stein,  I  have  been  your  friend  ever 
since  you  put  your  foot  on  our  humble  threshold ;  I 
have  always  taken  your  part  when  prosaic  minds,  Avith-* 
out  reverence  for  the  Great  and  the  Beautiful " 

Primula  was  forced  to  arrest  the  overflowing  waters  of 
her  tenderness,  which  Oswald  had  called  forth  so  sud- 
denly by  his  coarse  flattery ;  for  at  that  moment  they  had 


Through  Night  to  Light.  207 

reached  the  adjoining  room,  where  a  part  of  the  company 
were  already  seated  around  the  long  table,  which  was 
covered  with  a  white  cloth,  and  lighted  up  with  two 
lamps  and  two  candles.  At  the  upper  end  stood  Mrs. 
Rector  Clemens,  the  founder  and  manager  of  the  "  Dra- 
matic Club,"  looking  at  her  company  like  a  herd  at  his 
flock,  and  appointing  to  the  still  homeless  guests  their 
seats,  gesticulating  fiercely  with  her  arms,  and  letting 
her  deep  voice  out  more  fully  than  seemed  absolutely, 
necessary. 

"  Sit  down  by  Fredegunda,  Doctor  Broadfoot.  Will 
you  take  a  seat  by  my  daughter  Thurnelda,  Doctor 
Stein  1  Mrs.  Jager,  you  will  please  take  a  seat  by  Pro- 
fessor Snellius.  Professor  Jager,  you  by  Mrs.  Kubel. 
Well,  now  we  are  all  seated." 

Mrs.  Manager  seized  a  bell,  which  stood  before  her 
on  the  table,  and  began  to  ring  it  for  half  a  minute  with 
all  the  energy  of  a  president  of  a  parliament  who  wishes 
to  drown  the  mad  voices  of  a  few  hundred  furious  rep- 
resentatives of  the  people.  As  the  absolute  silence 
reigning  in  the  whole  assembly  furnished  no  pretext  for 
this  display  of  energetic  efforts,  Mrs.  Manager  at  last 
put  the  bell  down  on  the  table,  and  seized  instead  a 
sheet  of  paper,  on  which,  as  on  a  theatre  bill,  the  parts 
in  the  piece  and  the  names  of  the  company  were  ar- 
ranged in  dovible  columns. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen  !  "  she  said,  examining  the 
faces  of  the  audience,  as  they  looked  up  to  her,  with  sat- 
isfaction. "  You  know  that  we  have  chosen  at  our  last 
sitting  "  Wallenstein's  Death  "  for  this  meeting  with  uni- 
versal acclimatization  ;  I  meant  to  say,  acclamation.  As 
unfortunately  the  piece  has  more  parts  than  we  have 
members,  I  have  been  forced  to  leave  out  several  which 
did  not  appear  to  me  essential.  But  even  then  there  re- 
mained a  few  which  I  could  not  well  fill,  and  which 
would  have  remained  blank  if  some  of  our  dear  guests 
who  give  us  the  pleasure  of  their  company  to-night  had 
not  put  it  into  my  power  to  complete  the  bill  to  the 
general  satisfaction  of  all,  I  hope.  Although  most  of 
you  already  know  which  part  has  been  allotted  to  them. 
I  will  for  the  sake  of  regularity,  and  especially  for  the 


208 


Through  Night  to  Light. 


benefit  of  our  dear  guests,  read  the  whole  list  from 
the  beginning  once  more.  Listen  tlien,  I  pray,  atten- 
tively !  " 

Mrs.  Manager  cleared  her  voice  and  read,  amid  the  at- 
tentive silence  of  the  company : 


Wallenstein, 

Octavio  Piccolomini, 

Neva  Piccolomini, 

Terzky, 

Illo, 

Butler, 

Gordon, 

Seni, 

Duchess, 

Countess  Terzky 

Thekla,     . 

Fraulein  Neubrunn, 

Swedish  Captain, 

Devereux, 


Rector  Clemens. 

Professor  Snellius. 

Doctor  Winimer. 

Fredegunda  Clemens. 

Doctor  Kubel. 

Doctor  Broadfoot. 

Mrs.  Kubel. 

Miss  Ida  Snellius. 

Mrs.  Snellius. 

Myself. 

Thurnelda  Clemens. 

Marie  Kubel. 

Doctor  Stein. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jager. 
MacDonald,  [  Captains  in  Wallenstein's  army. 
Oswald,  who  had  been  not  a  little  amused  by  this 
original  distribution,  had  to  bite  his  lips  not  to  laugh 
loud,  when  he  saw  the  foolish  faces  made  by  the  last- 
named  persons  as  they  heard  their  names  coupled  so 
intimately  with  the  names  of  the  murderers  of  the  hero. 
Professor  Jager  drew  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
lower  than  Oswald  had  ever  seen  them ;  and  Primula, 
who  had  turned  as  w^hite  as  the  lace  collar  on  her  pale- 
yellow  dress,  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  breaking 
into  tears. 

That  was,  then,  the  triumph  which  she  had  hoped  for 
from  this  night !  Was  this  the  hospitable  house  of  dear 
friends,  who  were  so  proud  of  their  perfect  humanity.-' 
or  was  it  a  blood-dripping  cave  of  brutal  Troglodytes  ? 
Was  he  the  interpreter  of  the  fragments  of  Chrysophilos, 
or  was  he  not  t  Was  she  the  famous  avithor  of  the 
"  Cornflowers,"  or  was  she  not .''  And  no  cry  of  indigna- 
tion broke  forth  from  the  throats  of  all  who  had  heard 
with  their  own  ears  this  desecration  of  names  so  re- 
nowned in  science  and  in  art ! 

The  professor  and  his  wife  looked  at  each  other  across 


Through  Night  to  Light.  209 

the  tabic  Avith  eyes  in  which  an  attentive  observer  might 
have  read  these  and  other  questions;  then  they  glanced 
around  the  company  at  the  table  to  see  what  impression 
such  blasphemy  must  needs  have  produced  upon  the 
audience.  But  no  one  seemed  to  think  any  harm  about 
this  disgraceful  insult  to  scientific  and  poetic  fame ;  no 
one,  with  the  exception  perhaps  of  fat  Doctor  Kubel, 
who  replied  to  an  interrogative  glance  of  the  professor 
with  a  friendly  grin,  and  Oswald,  who  stealthily  pressed 
Primula's  hand  under  the  table  as  a  sign  of  his  sym- 
pathy, for  Primula  sat  on  his  left,  while  Thurnelda  was 
his  right-hand  neighbor.  Otherwise  nobody  troubled 
himself  about  the  insulted  sufferers ;  each  one  Avas  busy 
only  with  his  own  part,  and  the  impression  he  hoped  to 
make  upon  the  others,  and  all  awaited  now  the  signal 
for  beginning.  The  lady  manager  gave  it  at  once,  with 
the  same  grace  and  the  same  noise  with  which,  in  a  mena- 
gerie, the  docile  elephant  rings  the  bell  for  dinner,  and 
the  bear  or  the  monkey  for  supper. 

Mrs.  Clemens  presented  next,  in  a  neat  little  speech 
to  Miss  Ida  Snellius,  the  offer  to  "come  down,  as  day 
was  breaking  and  Mars  in  the  ascendant,"  whereupon 
the  young  lady  begged  her  to  "  let  her  observe  Venus 
first,  that  was  just  rising  and  shining  in  the  east  like  a 
sun,"  but  her  voice  was  so  indistinct  as  to  be  almost 
inaudible,  either  from  the  great  remoteness  of  the  astron- 
omer or  from  the  embarrassment  of  the  performer. 

The  rest  corresponded  with  this  interesting  begin- 
ning, and  they  inflicted  upon  the  unlucky  drama  all  the 
horrors  which  art-loving  ladies  and  gentlemen  are  apt 
to  practice  when  they  assemble  for  the  purpose  of  read- 
ing a  drama  with  "  distributed  parts,"  as  they  call  it. 
Rector  Clemens  changed  Wallenstein  into  the  gentle 
member  of  a  Moravian  brotherhood  ;  Professor  Snellius, 
the  clever,  intriguing  Octavio,  into  a  wooden  pedant ; 
Doctor  Winimer  howled  and  groaned  as  the  noble  son 
of  an  ignoble  father,  so  that  unspeakable  horror  befell 
every  heart;  and  Doctor  Kubel  seemed  to  take  Illo 
for  Chamisso's  washerwoman  ;  while  Doctor  Broadfoot 
read  silent  Butler's  words  as  if  he  had  been  a  charlatan 
dentist  at  a  fair.     Countess  Terzky  became  one  of  Pap- 


210  Through  Night  to  Light. 

penheine's  Cuirassiers;  and  Thekla,  in  the  hands  of  Miss 
Thurnelda,  a  love-sick  seamstress. 

And  with  all  that,  there  was  a  holy  zeal  animating 
them  all  and  inducing  them  to  turn  over  the  leaves  long 
before  their  turn  came  again,  and  thus  to  produce  a  con- 
tinuous rustling;  and  with  all  that,  an  unvarnished  en- 
thusiasm which  rewarded  the  performances  of  some,  as 
those  of  Doctor  Winimer ;  and  with  all  that  an  unselfish 
modesty  with  which  less  gifted  members,  like  Marie  Ku- 
bel,  submitted  to  correction  on  the  part  of  Rector  Clem- 
ens, who  enjoyed,  by  the  regulations  of  the  club,  the 
privilege  of  interrupting  the  reader  and  of  pointing  out 
to  him  or  to  her  the  mistakes  made  in  reciting. 

Oswald  enjoyed  this  Babylonian  confusion,  this  nib- 
bling of  mice  at  the  club  of  Hercules,  until  gradually 
disgust  overcame  him,  and  even  the  sight  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Jager  was  no  longer  able  to  cause  him  to  laugh 
heartily.  The  professor  sat,  lost  in  his  large  easy-chair, 
immovable,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drawn  down  so  low 
that  its  otitline  presented  the  form  of  a  horse-shoe,  Avhile 
he  looked  with  his  small,  green  eyes  over  the  frame  of  his 
large,  round  spectacles  at  his  wife,  his  fellow-sufferer, 
his  companion  in  his  disgrace.  The  conduct  of  the 
poetess  was,  of  course,  far  more  striking,  as  might  have 
been  expected  from  so  eccentric  a  character.  Now  she 
would  throw  herself  back  in  her  chair  with  crossed  arms 
and  fix  her  eyes  on  the  ceiling,  and  now  she  would  lean  for- 
ward and  support  her  head,  with  the  golden  hair  and  the 
wreath  of  blue  cornflowers,  in  her  hands.  Then  again 
she  smiled  a  smile  of  supreme  contempt,  or  she  yawned 
as  if  overcome  by  intolerable  ennui.  Oswald  was  very 
curious  to  see  what  she  would  do  when  her  turn  came, 
for  she  had  whispered  to  him  at  the  beginning,  in  fever- 
ish excitement,  "  I  will  not  read ;  rely  vipon  it,  I  will  not 
read !  " 

However,  his  curi'orsity  was  not  to  be  so  easily  satisfied, 
for  after  Mr.  Winimer  had  declared  himself  at  the  end 
of  the  third  act,  with  a  final  effort  of  all  his  voice,  "  ready 
to  die,"  Mrs.  Clemens  once  more  began  to  ring  with  all 
her  might,  and  gave  thus  the  signal  for  a  long  pause, 
which,  according  to  §  25  of  the  statutes,  occurred  in  a 


Through  Night  to  Light.  2 1 1 

drama  of  five  acts  invariably  after  the  third  act,  and  in 
a  piece  of  four  acts  after  the  second,  and  during  Avhich, 
according  to  §  26,  wine  and  cake  were  handed  round. 

In  order  to  comply  with  the  tenor  of  these  paragraphs, 
the  company  left  the  table  and  returned  to  the  sitting 
room  in  the  highly  excited  condition  in  which  people 
come  from  a  finished  artistic  performance.  They  sat, 
and  stood  about,  with  glasses  in  their  hands,  and  talked 
of  the  piece  and  the  declamation.  They  all  agreed  that 
Doctor  Winimer  had  this  time,  as  always,  surpassed 
them  all,  and  that  Miss  Marie  Kubel  had  not  yet  spoken 
loud  enough,  although,  generally  speaking,  she  might  be 
said  to  have  made  some  progress.  The  gentlemen  gave 
each  other  marks,  as  they  did  with  their  school-boys, 
and  of  course  all  received  the  highest  number.  The 
ladies  spoke  of  the  sublime  poet,  of  the  chaste  nobility 
of  his  verses.  Miss  Ida  Snellius  insisted  that  Schiller 
reminded  her  frequently  of  Euripides,  whereupon  the 
circle  fell  into  a  learned  discussion,  in  Avhich  the  words 
Sophocles,  Goethe,  Schiller,  Aristophanes,  ^Eschylus, 
Euripides,  Don  Carlos,  Odipus  upon  Colonos,  and 
Wallenstein,  Avere  tossed  to  and  fro  like  snow-flakes. 

Oswald  looked  for  the  author  of  the  "  Cornflowers," 
whom  he  had  lost  sight  of  since  the  beginning  of  the 
game.  He  found  her  in  a  window-recess  of  the  second 
room  (otherwise  the  chaste  bed-chamber  of  the  two 
Misses  Clemens),  whispering  eagerly  to  her  husband. 
He  was  about  to  withdraw  modestly  so  as  not  to  disturb 
the  tete-d-tete,  but  Primula  rose  as  soon  as  she  saw  him, 
seized  his  hand  and  drew  him  into  the  recess. 

"  Speak  low,"  said  Primula,  with  the  hollow  voice  of 
a  ghost. 

"What  is  the  matter.'"  asked  Oswald,  in  the  same 
tone. 

"  You  shall  tell  me  whether  I  ought  to  read !  "  breathed 
Primula;  "  Jager  has  no  sensibility  for  such  a  disgrace." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  dearest  Augusta,"  whispered  the  professor; 
"  but  I  should  like  to  avoid  a  scene ;  I  pray  you,  darling, 
what  will  the  people  say  when — oh,  I  cannot  think  of 
it." 

"  I  should  be  disposed  to  agree  with  the  professor," 


212  Through  Night  to  Light. 

said  Oswald.  "I  do  not  see  how  you  can  be  saved  after 
being  once  entrapped  into  this  lion's  den." 

"  Is  the  author  of  the  *  Cornflowers  '  a  murderer  —  a 
wretched  assassin  1  "  whined  Primula.     "  Never,  never !  " 

"  It  is  disgraceful,"  chimed  in  Oswald ;  "  but  the  inter- 
preter of  Chrysophilos  is  in  the  same  position,  and  you 
see  he  bears  his  hard  fate  with  dignity." 

A  pressure  of  the  hand  from  the  professor  rewarded 
Oswald  for  this  flattery. 

"  Oh,  you  men  have  no  feelings  for  insults,"  sobbed 
Primula.    "  Well,  I  will  try,  but  if " 

The  stormy  ringing  of  the  president's  bell  from  the 
adjoining  room  cut  Primula  short.  She  stepped  ahead 
of  the  two  gentlemen  with  the  air  of  one  who  has 
formed  a  resolution,  happen  what  may. 

"  Now  it  will  soon  be  our  turn,"  said  Doctor  Winimer, 
as  they  took  their  seats  under  continued  ringing  of 
bells,  to  Oswald ;  "  don't  be  afraid,  and  read  bravely  on. 
Even  if  you  do  not  do  very  well  the  first  time,  it  will 
be  better  the  second  time,  and  practice  makes  the  mas- 
ter." 

"  Whom  I  admire  and  revere  in  you,"  replied  Oswald, 
bowing. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Doctor  Winimer,  rubbing  his 
hair,  with  a  smile ;  "  it  might  be  better.  To  be  sure, 
when  I  recently  heard  Hottei,  who  is  probably  the  best 
reader  in  Germany,  the  old  saying  Atich'  is  sono  pittore 
came  at  once  into  my  mind." 

"  I  believe  it,"  said  Oswald. 

The  bell  ceased  to  ring,  and  Doctor  Broadfoot,  as  Col- 
onel Butler,  raised  his  voice,  and  cried  so  that  the  win- 
dows rattled  : 

"  He  is  inside.     Fate  led  him  hither." 

The  murderous  night  at  Castle  Egu  progressed  now 
rapidly  from  scene  to  scene.  Oswald  was  so  curious 
about  the  manner  in  which  Primula  would  take  her  fate, 
especially  since  he  had  seen  her  excitement  grow  apace 
as  the  fatal  moment  approached,  that  he  could  hear  the 
words  of  FrLiulein  Nevibrunn,  "  The  Swedish  captain  is 
here,"  without  excitement.  He  actually  asked  Princess 
Thekla,  Thurnelda,  quite  coolly,  and  Avithout  the  slight- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  213 

est  palpitation  of  his  heart,  to  pardon  him  for  his  "  rash, 
inconsiderate  words."  Nor  did  he  notice  the  uncalled- 
for  warmth  of  feeling  with  which  Miss  Clemens  recited 
the  words : 

"  A  fatal  chance  has  made  you, 
A  stranger,  quickly  my  familiar  friend," 

although  her  tone  made  Doctor  Winimer  feel  bitter 
pangs  in  his  heart.  Miss  Fredegunda  looked  most^  sig- 
nificantly at  her  Doctor  Broadfoot.  He  did  not  notice 
the  murmured  applause  which  followed  his  recital  of 
the  death  of  the  cavalry-colonel ;  and  the  following  scenes 
also  passed  unnoticed,  till  at  last  the  fatal  net  encloses 
Wallenstein  altogether  in  its  meshes,  and  dark  Colonel 
Butler  distributes,  in  the  secrecy  of  his  rooms,  the  parts 
to  be  taken  by  the  murderers.  Already  Major  Ge- 
raldine  has  hurried  off  with  his  bloody  commission,  and 
— now  the  moment  comes,  when  (on  the  stage)  the  cur- 
tain parts  and  the  grim  captains  Devereux  and  Mac- 
Donald  present  themselves  in  collar  and  tall  riding-boots, 
and  long  swords  at  their  side,  before  the  commander  of 
their  regiment. 

"  What  is  she  going  to  do  ?"  thought  Oswald,  as  he 
saw  the  face  of  the  sufferer  turn  pale  and  red  by  turns ; 
'■  she  is  not  going  to  read." 

But  Primula  overcame  the  noble  indignation  Avhich 
made  her  heart  swell,  cleared  her  voice,  and  said,  with  the 
soft  voice  of  a  saint  who  surrenders  himself  into  the 
hands  of  the  executioners : 

"  Here  we  are,  general !  " 

The  lady  manager,  who  thought  the  accent  ought  to 
have  been  upon  the  word  7c/^,  because  there  were  two 
murderers,  availed  herself  of  the  right  conferred  on  her 
by  §  73  of  the  regulations,  and  said : 

"  Here  we  are,  general !  " 

That  was  too  much.  The  string  was  overstrained  ;  it 
snapped  asunder ;  the  insulted  poetess  rose,  closed  her 
book  with  a  jerk,  and  said  with  pale  lips  : 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  disturb  the  company  by  my  declara- 
tion that  I  am  unable  to  read  any  more.     But  as  I — 


214  Through  Night  to  Light. 

can — not  even — read  a  part — which — I  must  force — 
myself — violently — to  read — " 

She  could  say  no  more,  but  fell  back  into  her  chair 
and  broke  into  convulsive  weeping. 

The  consternation  which  this  scene  produced  in  the 
harmless  company  could  not  have  been  greater.  They 
rose  suddenly  from  their  seats ;  they  crowded  around 
the  sobbing  poetess;  they  asked  one  another  what  was 
the  matter  with  Mrs.  Jager.?  and  the  professor  if  his 
wife  was  subject  to  such  attacks.?  Nobody  suspected 
the  true  cause  of  her  condition,  which  the  gentlemen 
tried  to  remedy  by  persuasion,  and  the  ladies  by  Cologne 
water.  But  Primula  would  accept  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  She  rose  after  a  few  seconds  from  her  chair, 
declared  decidedly  to  be  obliged  to  go  home,  and  went 
out  hanging  on  the  arm  of  her  husband,  who  had  made 
a  very  foolish  face  during  the  whole  scene,  without  say- 
ing good-by  to  any  one. 

At  the  moment  when  the  company,  extremely  sur- 
prised by  the  disappearance  of  such  honored  guests, 
were  still  standing  about  in  the  sittiiig-room  and  dis- 
cussing the  facts,  a  letter  was  handed  to  Oswald,  which, 
as  the  parlor-maid  said,  "  a  young  man  had  brought, 
who  was  waiting  for  an  answer." 

Oswald  opened  the  note,  which  contained  only  the 
words : 

"  Make  haste  and  come  away.  I  am  waiting  below. — 
Timm." 

Oswald  did  not  neglect  such  an  admirable  pretext  to 
escape  from  a  company  which  became  every  moment 
more  and  more  intolerable  to  him.  He  said  he  had  re- 
ceived news  which  required  him  to  return  home  in- 
stantly. The  next  moment  he  had  joined  Timm  in  the 
street. 

"  Heaven  be  thanked  that  I  could  get  away,"  he  cried, 
seizing  Timm,  who  was  delighted  to  see  him,  by  the  arm, 
and  dragging  him  with  him. 

"Thought  so,"  said  Mr.  Timm,  "thought  you  were 
suffering  infernal  pains ;  meant  to  help  you,  poor  fel- 
low. Come,  let  us  wash  down  the  learned  dust  which 
you  have  swallowed,  with  a  bottle  of  golden  wine." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  215 


Book     Second. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  Boarding-School  for  Young  Ladies,"  in  the 
suburbs  of  Grunwald,  Avas  not  exactly  a  house 
of  correction  for  young  girls  who  were  incor- 
rigible at  home,  as  the  students  of  Grunwald  and  other 
wicked  people  maintained  ;  nor  was  the  principal  of  the 
institution,  Miss  Amelia  Bear — known  as  the  She  Bear 
— altogether  the  female  dragon  which  malicious  tongues 
represented  her  to  be.  It  is  true,  no  one  could  deny 
that  during  the  day  the  curtains  were  almost  invariably 
down  in  the  windows  looking  upon  the  street,  and  that 
after  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  no  light  was  to  be  seen 
in  the  whole  house.  The  boarders  were  never  seen  in 
public,  except  in  solemn  procession,  walking  two  and 
two,  and  with  a  teacher  at  the  head  and  a  teacher  at  the 
end ;  no  letter  passed  the  threshold  of  the  house,  going 
out  or  coming  in,  which  was  not  first  subjected  to  a  close 
scrutiny  in  Miss  Bear's  study,  and  stamped  there,  so  to 
say,  with  the  official  seal ;  but  these  and  similar  regula- 
tions are  either  common  to  all  "  boarding-schools  for 
young  ladies,"  or  there  was,  in  certain  cases,  a  special 
reason  for  them.  The  institution  was  intended  for  the 
"higher  classes,"  whose  female  offspring  was  covmted 
upon  for  its  support ;  this  meant  almost  exclusively  the 
high  nobility  of  the  district,  as  the  daughters  of  persons 
not  noble  rarely  sought  admission,  and  still  more  rarely 
found  admission.  Now  it  happens  that  young  ladies  of 
rank  born  and  bred  in  the  country,  and  enjoying  the 
twofold  privileges  of  country  life  and  an  exceptional 
social  position,  accustomed  to  manage  from  their  twelfth 
year  their  ponies  with  the  skill  of  circus-riders,  and  at 


2i6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

thirteen  often  more  familiar  with  the  humbugs  of 
society  than  other  girls  ever  become-that  such  girls 
are  not  to  be  treated  as  leniently  as  other  daughters  of 
Eve  They  are  used  to  the  society  of  busy  idlers  as 
their  only  male  companions:  young  land-owners,  otti- 
cers  on  furlough,  and  other  men  of  frequently  very 
loose  morals;  and  great  is  the  danger,  therefore  that 
this  inborn  and  inbred  sovereign  haughtiness  may  bloom 
forth  abundantly,  and  bear  equivocal  fruit,  unless  they 
are  restrained  in  time  and  with  method. 

This  was  the  excuse  which  Miss  Bear  s  friends  made  for 
the  draconic  laws  of  her  institution  ;  she  was  the  respon- 
sible keeper  of  this  precious  but  fragile  ware,  and  who 
could  wonder  at  the  stern  glance  of  her  once  perhaps 
beautiful  eyes,  and  the  crowd  of  wrinkles  on  her  brow 
which  seemed  to  deepen  and  to  multiply  every  year  ?  Like 
so  many  among  us,  she  was  what  she  W'as,  not  because  she 
wished  to  be  so,  but  because  she  was  forced  to  be  so  It 
was  her  vocation  to  look  stern^  and  to  frown,  as  it  is  the 
vocation  of  others  to  smile  forever  and  to  wear  as 
Imooth  a  face  as  they  can  produce  But  as  the  greates 
psychologist  of  our  day  has  taught  us  that  one  may 
smile  and  smile  forever,  and  yet  be  a  very  great  rascal 
so  it  is  also  possible  to  look  like  a  chief  ^^^q^f  \tor,  and 
vet  to  have  a  truly  womanly,  gentle,  and  kindly  heart. 

Miss  Amelia  Bear  was  the  living  proof  ot  such  a  pos- 
sibility Miss  Amelia  Bear  had  had  a  very  hard  time 
of  it  all  her  life-long.  She  was  the  poor  daughter  of  a 
poor  village  minister,  and  began  at  fourteen  her  thorny 
Lreer  as  a  governess  in  noble  country  families.  In 
those  days  she  was  very  pretty,  and  therefore  exj30sed 
to  many  temptations;  but  her  prudence  and  ler  dp  er- 
ness  had  helped  her  to  escape  from  all  dangeis,  till  she 
was  old  enough  to  be  left  alone,  and  to  procure  tor  her- 
self a  kind  of  independence  by  establishing  a  school 
upon  the  savings  of  long  years  and  the  presents  she  had 
occasionally  received.  Her  honorable  character  was 
known  to  everybody;  and  tliis,  and  the  experience  she 
had  -ained  in  the  field  of  education,  justified  such  an 
enterprise,  while  her  numerous  relations  to  "ohle  ;xmi- 
lies  promised  almost  certain  success.     She  prefeired  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  217 

nobility,  because  the  nobility  preferred  her ;  and  she  hesi- 
tated to  accept  girls  of  other  families,  because  she  was 
sure  to  lose  or  not  to  receive  for  one  such  boarder  six 
from  the  nobility. 

Nevertheless  she  gave  up  the  principle  whenever  a 
special  case  seemed  to  require  an  exception  from  the 
rule.  Thus  it  had  been  with  Sophie  Roban.  The  privy 
councillor  was  the  physician  of  the  institution,  and  Miss 
Bear  was  under  great  obligations  to  him.  Even  her  noble 
patrons,  therefore,  understood  perfectlv  why  she  could 
not  well  refuse  the  widowed  privy  councillor,  when  he 
asked  her  to  take  for  a  few  years  a  mother's  place  to  his 
orphaned  child. 

Her  relation  to  Sophie  Roban  was  the  best  proof  of 
the  exaggeration  which  had  given  rise  to  so  many  fables 
about  the  dragon  nature  of  Miss  Bear.     She  had  become 
a  real  mother  to  the  motherless  girl ;  she  had  guarded 
and  protected  her  against  every  bodily  and  mental  dan- 
ger, not  in  order  to  earn  her  compensation    honestly 
nor  for  the  sake  of  the  reputation  of  her   school,   but 
because  she  loved  the  girl  with  her  whole  heart,  as  if 
she  had  been  her  own.     Malicious  people  went  so  far  as 
to  say  that  she  had  not  only  raised  but  also  spoiled  the 
girl    and   it   could   not   be   denied  that   Sophie— little 
Sophie,  as  the  She  Bear  said— could  dare  what  no  other 
boarder,  not  even  Emily  von  Breesen,  who  was  at  the 
same  time  there,  and  who  passed  for  absolutely  untama- 
ble, would   ever   have  ventured   to  do.     Sophie  could 
interrupt    Miss    Bear    in    the    most    violent    philippic 
against  any  wrong-doer  who  had  done  something  espe- 
cially horrible,  e.  g.,  cutting  round  holes  in  the  curtains 
lor  the  purpose  of  peeping  at  the  people  who  passed  bv 
the  house,  and  could  fall  upon  her  neck  and  say :  Miss 
Mai,  Miss  Mai,  I  would  not  be  so  very  ano-ry  if  I  were 
you  !     Sophie  could  at  all  times  freely  enter  her  studv 
—that  mysterious  adytum  to  which   the   youno-  ladies 
came  with  fear  and  trembling,  and  where  the  dispatches 
to  their  parents  were  prepared,  and  all  their  letters,  com- 
ing and  going,   were    subjected  to  rigorous  scrutiny' 
bophie  could  do  what  she  chose. 

These  relations  between  teacher  and  pupil  had  ripened 


2i8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

into  a  friendship  of  a  peculiar  nature  after  Sophie  had 
left  the  school  and  become  the  presiding-  officer  of  her 
father's  house.  Miss  Bear  appreciated  Sophie's  good 
judgment,  and  did  not  disdain  to  consult  the  lady,  young 
as  she  was,  in  critical  cases;  and  what  is  more,  she  almost 
always  followed  the  advice  w^aich  her  young  friend 
gave,  more  in  play  than  in  good  earnest,  but  always 
with  perfect  simplicity  and  impartiality.  Such  a  case 
had  occurred  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  the  Baroness 
Grenwitz  had  expressed  a  wish  to  send  her  daughter 
Helen  back  for  some  time  to  the  institution  to  finish  her 
studies,  especially  in  the  sciences.  Now  such  a  step  was 
remarkable  enough  in  itself,  as  Miss  Helen  was  coming 
straight  from  a  Avell-known,  superior  school,  in  which 
she  had  spent  four  years ;  but  it  became  still  more  em- 
barrassing by  the  circumstance  that  the  instructions 
which  Miss  Bear  received  from  the  baroness  on  one  side, 
and  from  the  baron  on  the  other,  differed  essentially  as  to 
the  degree  of  freedom  to  be  granted  the  young  lady.  If 
Miss  Bear  obeyed  the  written  instructions  of  the  baron- 
ess, Helen  was  to  be  kept  as  a  state  prisoner,  under 
latch  and  key  ;  if  she  followed  the  requests  made  orally 
by  the  baron,  when  he  brought,  himself,  his  daughter  to 
Grunwald,  the  young  lady  was  to  be  left  in  absolute 
liberty.  As  both  methods  of  education  were  equally 
incompatible  with  the  system  adopted  in  the  school, 
Miss  Bear  was  in  great  embarrassment,  and  turned,  in 
her  dilemma,  to  her  young  friend,  to  receive  from  her 
advice  in  this  mysterious  atfair. 

Fortunately  Sophie  had  heard  much  from  her  be- 
trothed about  the  state  of  things  at  Grenwitz,  and  what 
he  had  not  explained  she  readily  divined  by  the  talent 
peculiar  to  all  women  of  delicate  feelings. 

"  They  tried  to  marry  Helen  to  a  man  unworthy  of 
her,"  sai'd  the  young  lady,  as  she  met  her  motherly  friend 
soon  after  Helen's  arrival  in  the  mysterious  adytum  of 
her  study,  in  order  to  confer  with  her  about  the  Gren- 
witz affair,  "  and  Helen  has  very  properly  refused  to  con- 
sent. In  return,  they  have  banished  her  for  a  time  from 
her  paternal  home.  You  will  surely  not  increase  the 
hardship  by  being  unnecessarily  severe  against  the  poor 


Through  Night  to  Light.  219 

girl  ?  Surely,  Miss  Mai,  that  would  not  be  like  you. 
bo  what  the  father  says  :  treat  Helen  not  as  a  pupil — 
for  that,  she  is  too  old  ;  treat  her  as  a  young  girl  who 
has  taken  refuge  with  you  from  a  tyrannical  mother  who 
ill-treats  her,  and  from  a  father  who  is  too  weak  to  pro- 
tect her.  For  that  is,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  truth  of  the 
case." 

When  Sophie  said  so,  she  did,  of  course,  not  suspect 
Oswald's  love  for  Helen,  and  Helen's  love  for  Oswald, 
which,  if  known  to  her,  would  probably  have  made 
her  speak  somewhat  differently ;  and  afterwards,  when 
Franz's  reports  about  the  catastrophe  at  Grenwitz,  and 
many  a  word  spoken  by  Helen  herself,  made  her  see 
more  clearly  this  all-important  point,  she  still  did  not 
change  her  advice,  because  she  looked  upon  it  as  treason 
against  a  friend  to  tell  others  a  secret  of  which  she  her- 
self Avas  not  yet  fully  convinced.  Helen,  moreover,  had 
become  her  friend  in  the  meantime  ;  at  least  she  was 
most  devotedly  attached  to  the  pretty  girl,  although  she 
had  reasons  to  doubt  whether  Helen,  in  her  haughty 
pride  and  reserve,  returned  her  love.  It  was  mainly 
their  common  enthusiastic  love  for  music  which  had 
brought  the  two  young  ladies  so  closely  together.  They 
soon  found,  not  only  that  they  shared  this  enthusiasm, 
but  that  they  complemented  each  other  in  their  knov/l- 
edge  of  music  as  well  as  in  their  powers  of  execution. 
Sophie  was  the  more  learned ;  the  mysteries  of  Thorough 
Bass — for  Helen,  a  book  with  seven  seals — were  open  to 
her ;  but  Helen  felt  and  appreciated  music  more  fully. 
In  comparison  with  Sophie,  Helen  was,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  mere  scholar  on  the  piano,  but  she  had  a  rich 
alto  voice,  as  extensive  as  well  trained,  while  Sophie 
said  of  herself  that  she  had  not  a  note  in  her  throat. 

Thus  the  two  young  ladies  could  play  and  sing  by 
the  hour,  either  in  Helen's  room  at  the  institute,  or  more 
frequently  in  Sophie's  parlor,  without  ever  getting  tired. 
Helen  insisted  that  nobody  had  ever  accompanied  her 
as  well  as  Sophie  ;  and  Sophie,  that  nothing  had  ever 
afforded  her  a  greater  musical  enjoyment  than  Helen's 
sweet,  melodious  voice,  full  of  deep  feeling. 

But,  strange  enough,  although  their  souls  met  in  the 


2  20  Through  Night  to  Light. 

realm  of  music  as  kindred  souls,  and  gave  each  other  a 
sister's  kiss,  their  tongues  became  silent  as  soon  as  they 
attempted  to  approach  each  other  in  human  speech. 
Their  conversation  stopped  frequently,  and  they  had  to 
turn  again  to  music  in  order  to  fill  a  pause  which  threat- 
ened to  become  painful.  Sometimes  Sophie  thought 
Helen  was  making  a  violent  effort  to  break  the  charm 
which  bound  her  in  silence,  but  she  never  went  in  such 
moments  beyond  the  first  stammered  sounds  of  intimacy, 
and  the  very  next  moment  saw  the  young  girl  longing 
for  friendship  changed  into  the  haughty  lady  of  the 
world,  calm  in  her  self-satisfied  repose,  and  unapproach- 
able. 

"  She  is  a  marble  statue,"  said  Sophie  to  her  father, 
"  in  spite  of  her  black  hair,  and  her  dark,  brilliant  eyes. 
You  cannot  get  near  to  her.  I  believe  she  is  secretly  an 
Undine." 

The  privy  councillor  laughed. 

"  You  may  not  be  altogether  wrong,"  he  said;  "for  if 
the  two  entirely  different  elements,  air  and  water,  har- 
bor also  entirely  different  creatures,  which  cannot  have 
real  communion  with  each  other,  it  is  perfectly  logical 
that  different  moral  atmospheres,  like  that  in  which  the 
nobles  live  and  that  in  which  we  live,  must  also  produce 
morally  different  beings,  who  can  never  become  real 
friends  with  heart  and  soul.  Have  you  formed  any 
friendship,  during  the  time  you  spent  at  Miss  Bear's 
school,  which  has  lasted  beyond  those  years  1  " 

"  Yes,  papa,  with  Miss  Bear  herself,"  answered  Sophie, 
laughing. 

"  There  you  see,"  said  the  privy  councillor,  with  his 
satirical  smile,  "  one  can  become  good  friends  with  she 
bears  even,  but  not  with  Undines." 

Sophie  was  too  young  yet  to  be  able  to  share  the  sus- 
picions suggested  to  her  father  by  his  long  life  and  am- 
ple experience.  She  explained  Helen's  reserve  by  her 
innate  or  acquired  shyness  to  come  out  of  herself,  and 
forgave  her  this  shyness  all  tlie  more  readily  as  she  was 
not  quite  free  of  it  herself  She  was  herself  generally 
looked  upon  as  stern  and  cold,  and  many  people  de- 
clared openly  that  "  she  was  not  at  all  like  other  girls." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  221 

"  She  cannot  help  it,"  she  would  say  to  herself,  "  and  we 
ought  not  to  expect  to  gather  figs  from  thorn  bushes. 
Helen  would  be  just  the  same  to  you  if  the  Robans  had 
been  barons  at  the  time  of  Charlemagne." 

This  view  did  greater  honor  to  Sophie's  head  than  to 
her  worldly  prudence,  and  she  would  have  perhaps  be- 
come a  convert  to  her  father's  views,  "  that  Undines  can 
at  least  be  intimate  with  Undines,"  if  she  had  been  able 
to  look  over  Helen's  shoulder  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
third  day  after  Oswald's  arrival  in  Grunwald.  Helen 
was  writing  to  her  friend.  Miss  Mary  Burton  (an  Un- 
dine beyond  doubt,  for  she  belonged  to  an  old  and  noble 
English  family),  and  the  delicate  gold  pen  was  flying 
fast  over  the  paper. 

Helen  wrote  : 

"  This  is  the  first  time  for  a  long,  long  time,  dearest 
Mary,  that  I  have  the  heart  to  answer  your  letters — for 
there  is  qviite  a  pile  lying  before  me.  But  I  could  not 
get  the  courage  to  write  to  you,  wko  have  now  entered 
the  great  world,  and  have  been  presented  at  court — who 
are  engaged,  and  about  to  become  the  wife  of  an  English 
peer.  That  I,  Helen  von  Grenwitz,  to  whom  you  pro- 
phesied such  a  brilliant  future,  have  been  sent  back 
to  boarding-school!  sent  to  boarding-school,  like  a 
naughty  girl ;  sent  to  boarding-school,  like  a  gosling 
from  the  country  !  You  wonder  ;  you  smile  incredu- 
lously ;  you  lisp  your  '  It  is  impossible! '  and  when  you 
find  at  last  that  you  have  to  believe  my  repeated  assur- 
ances, you  seize  me  with  both  your  hands  and  cry  :  'but, 
for  God's  sake,  what  does  it  mean.'  what  can  it  be.?' 
and  you  force  me  to  tell  you  the  whole  story  from  the 
beginning.  Well,  I  see  no  possibility  to  escape  from 
the  punishment,  but  you  will  find  it  natural  that  I 
shorten  the  pain  as  much  as  I  can. 

"  Therefore,  in  short,  if  not  for  good  : 

"  The  relations  with  my  mother,  which  I  wrote  to  you 
before  were  so  satisfactory,  became  worse  and  worse  in 
consequence  of  my  decided  refusal  to  accept  Felix  as 
my  husband,  until  an  open  rupture,  which  I  had  long 
seen  coming,  was  inevitable.  I  have  borne  myself  in  the 
whole  affair  as  I  thought  I  owed  it  to  myself  and  to  you. 


222  Through  Night  to  Light. 

It  was  a  fierce  battle,  I  assure  you.  To  oppose  my 
mother  requires  courage,  and  my  father  supported  me 
but  fetbl}',  for  he  is  feeble.  Well!  the  battle  is  over ; 
the  dead  are  buried,  and  the  wounds  begin  to  heal.  Yes, 
Mary!  the  dead.  My  Bruno,  my  pride,  my  knight,  sans 
peur  et  sans  reproche,  my  brother,  my  friend,  my  darling 
Bruno,  is  no  more  !  He  died  fighting  for  me,  and  has 
breathed  the  last  of  his  young,  heroic  soul  in  a  kiss  upon 
my  lips.  The  fierce  grief  about  this  loss — for  I  only 
knew  what  he  had  been  to  me  when  I  had  him  no  longer 
— made  me  dull  and  indifferent  to  everything  and  every- 
body around  me.  As  this  boy  loved  me,  no  one  on 
earth  ever  can  and  will  love  me  again.  I  was  light  and 
air  to  him  ;  I  was  meat  and  drink  to  him  ;  I  was  waking 
and  sleeping — I  was  life  itself  to  him.  How  often  have 
I  laughed  at  him  when  he  told  me  so,  with  glowing 
cheeks  and  bright  eyes  and  trembling  lips  !  And  I  said, 
'Come,  Bruno,  none  of  your  extravagancies!  none  of 
your  fables!  you  are  a  little  fool!'  Now  I  would  give 
many  a  year  of  my  life  if  I  could  but  hear  it  once  more 
from  his  proud  lips.  A  suspicion,  wliich  I  cannot  shake 
off,  tells  me  that  I  would  have  found  in  Bruno  and 
with  Bruno  all  the  happiness  that  this  earth  can  afford; 
and  that  in  losing  him  I  have  lost  every  prospect  of 
happiness  here  below.  You  smile  ;  you  think  :  a  boy ! 
but  I  tell  you,  you  did  not  know  Bruno. 

"  Do  not  ask  me  to  repeat  everything  in  detail.  I  can- 
not do  it.  My  heart  is  too  full.  The  remembrance  of 
my  lost  pet  does  not  leave  me  for  a  moment,  and  I 
should  like  nothing  better  than  to  lay  down  my  pen  and 
to  cry  to  my  heart's  content.  Tell  me,  Mary,  is  it  really 
our  fate,  as  we  have  so  often  told  each  other  in  sad 
hours,  to  go  through  life  imsatisfied,  without  joy, 
without  happiness,  Avithout  the  hope  that  the  future  at 
least  may  bring  us  the  fulfilment  of  our  wishes.'*  Is 
fortune  ever  to  appear  to  us  only  as  a  fata  7norgana — 
charming  in  its  beauty  and  treacherously  fiecting.''  Or 
is  it  ever  to  present  itself  only  in  a  shape  whicli,  however 
great  the  inner  value  may  be,  offends  our  delicacy — our 
prejudices,  if  you  choose  to  call  them  so  }  Your  lot,  to 
be  sure,  it  seems,  is  to  be  different.     In  the  same  circles 


Through  Night  to  Light.  223 

to  which  you  belong,  by  birth  and  training-,  you  have 
found  the  man  who  would  have  been  dear  to  your  heart 
even  if  your  judgment  should  not  have  approved  of  the 
choice  of  your  heart.  A  man,  a  hero,  a  lord!  Happy, 
thrice  happy  you  are  to  have  found  one  to  wliom  you 
have  to  look  up,  proud  as  you  are  !  Smile  with  your 
aristocratic  curve  of  the  lip  upon — your  friend  at  the 
boarding-school ! 

"  It  is  true,  I  am  very  comfortable  at  this  boarding- 
school.  They  treat  me,  not  as  a  pupil,  but  as  a  guest,  and 
I  am  sincerely  grateful  to  the  principal,  a  Miss  Bear,  for 
her  goodness,  and  tke  delicate  consideration  with  which 
she  treats  me,  as  if  she  knew  all.  Perhaps  she  does 
know  all.  Such  events,  in  families  like  ours,  are  not  apt 
to  remain  unknown.  Have  I  not  myself  learnt  much 
about  my  own  engagement  only  several  weeks  after- 
wards, and  not  from  my  father,  with  whom  I  have  cor- 
responded all  the  time,  and  who  has  even  come  to  see 
me  several  times  from  Grenwitz  (my  mother,  who  I  am 
told  is  here  in  Grunwald,  has  broken  off"  all  intercourse 
with  me),  but  from  a  young  lady,  a  Miss  Sophie  Roban, 
a  former  boarder  here,  whose  acquaintance  I  have  made, 
and  with  whom  I  have  even  formed  a  kind  of  friendship. 
She  is  engaged  to  our  physician  at  Grenwitz,  Avho  has 
recently  settled  here,  and  thus  her  news  seems  to  be  reli- 
able. She  told  me  what  had  occurred  after  my  depar- 
ture from  Grenwitz,  and  what  papa  had  carefully  kept 
from  me  ;  that  the  young  man,  of  whom  I  wrote  you  al- 
ready last  summer,  our  tutor.  Doctor  Stein,  has  become 
my  knight  and  my  avenger,  inasmuch,  at  least,  as  he 
has  fought  a  duel  with  Felix,  and  given  my  great  cousin 
a  lesson  which  he  will  probably  not  forget  very  soon,  as 
I  learn  from  the  same  authority.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
strangely  this  news  has  affected  me.  At  first — I  may 
confess  to  you — my  pride  was  offended  that  my  name 
should  be  coupled  in  the  world  with  the  name  of  a  man 
like  Mr.  Stein  ;  that  a  stranger,  a  hireling,  should  have 
assumed  responsibilities  for  me,  as  if  he  were  a  relative, 
and  my  equal  in  rank.  But  then  I  thought  of  the  old 
saying,  'that  if  the  people  were  silent  the  stones  would 
speak ; '  I  remembered  that  a  brother  could  not  have 


2  24  Through  Night  to  Light. 

behaved  more  brotherly,  nor  a  knight  more  chivalrously, 
toward  me  than  this  man  had  done  from  the  first  mo- 
ment. I  recalled,  above  all,  that  this  man  was  my  Bru- 
no's dearest  friend,  and  I  forgot  my  pride,  and  felt,  not 
without  wondering  at  myself,  that  I  could  be  grateful 
to  this  man  for  his  great  kindness  and  affection  without 
feeling,  as  I  generally  do,  that  this  gratitude  w^eighs 
upon  me  as  a  burden.  Nay,  even  more,  I  felt  the  desire 
to  see  him,  who  was  abroad,  once  more,  in  order  to 
thank  him  in  person,  and  when  I  saw  him  to-day,  quite 
unexpectedly,  pass  by  the  window  at  which  I  was  sitting, 
I  felt — you  will  laugh  at  me,  Mary — I  felt  that  as  I  re- 
turned his  bow  the  blood  rushed  into  my  face.  When 
he  had  gone  by  I  could  not  help  following  him  with  my 
eye,  and  then  I  leaned  back  in  the  Avindowand  wept  bit- 
ter tears  over  the  memory  of  Bruno,  which  the  appear- 
ance of  Stein  had  suddenly  and  powerfully  revived  in 
my  mind.     I  wish  I  could  speak  to  him  undisturbed. 

"  But  I  must  break  off  here.  I  hear  Miss  Roban,  who 
comes  to  play  with  me,  and  Miss  Bear,  in  the  next 
room." 

Helen  rose  to  meet  the  two  ladies,  who  had  entered 
the  room  upon  her  entrez !  Sophie  Roban  passed  Miss 
Bear  and  embraced  Helen,  with  an  affectionate  haste 
which  contrasted  somewhat  with  the  calm  and  dignified 
carriage  of  the  young  aristocrat. 

"  I  have  really  longed  to  see  you,  Helen  !  Why  have 
you  not  come  to  see  me  since  the  other  night,  when  you 
promised  to  call  again  .?  Miss  Mai  has  not  put  her  veto 
upon  it .'' " 

"  Point  du  tout!"  replied  Miss  Bear,  pushing  her  glasses 
on  the  top  of  her  head,  in  order  to  look  more  freely  at 
the  large,  friendly  blue  eyes  of  her  favorite.  "  You 
know,  little  Sophie,  that  Helen  is  perfectly  free  to  dis- 
pose of  her  time.  But  that  was  not  what  I  came  for, 
dear  Helen  !  Here  is  a  letter  for  yovi ;  one  of  your  ser- 
vants brought  it ;  I  suppose  it  is  from  your  father  7  " 

Helen  took  the  letter  with  a  slight  acknowledgment, 
cast  a  glance  at  the  direction,  and  said  :  "  Yes,  indeed; 
from  my  father !  "  and  put  it  on  her  portefeuille,  which 
she  had  closed  when  the  two  ladies  entered. 


Throuzh  Ni^ht  to  Liz/it. 


225 


"  I  will  not  interrupt  you  any  longer,"  said  Miss  Bear. 
''  Little  Sophie  comes  to  carry  you  home  with  her.  Shall 
I  send  a  servant  for  you.' — and  when  .''  " 

"  You  are  surely  coming,  Helen  ?  "  said  Sophie,  who  had 
taken  a  seat  on  the  stool  before  the  piano,  and  was  look- 
ing at  a  collection  of  music.  "  I  have  received  some 
beautiful  new  songs.  A  splendid  one  by  Schumann ; 
we  must  look  at  it  together." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  Helen.  "But  I  cannot 
well  stay  long,  because  I  must  finish  a  letter  for  England 
to-night,  so  that  I  can  send  it  oif  to-morrow  morning. 
I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  Miss  Bear,  for  the  servant; 
but  I  shall  be  back  before  dark." 

"  As  you  like  it,  dear  Helen,"  said  Miss  Mai,  kissing 
first  Helen  very  lightly  on  the  forehead,  and  then  So- 
phie Roban  very  heartily;  "  adieu,  mes  en/ants." 

And  Miss  Bear  slipped  her  spectacles  down  again 
upon  her  nose,  wrinkled  up  her  brow  in  imposing  sever- 
ity, and  rustled  back  to  her  sanctum,  from  which  Sophie 
had  unearthed  her  a  few  minutes  before. 

"  How  is  your  father  to-day.'  "  asked  Helen. 

"  Thanks,"  replied  Sophie,  still  looking  at  the  collec- 
tion of  music  ;  "  he  is  much  better ;  he  has  stayed  up 
to-day  a  couple  of  hours  longer.  But  now  read  your 
letter,  Helen,  and  then  get  ready.     We  must  go." 

"  Directly,"  said  Helen,  opening  her  letter,  while  So- 
phie was  reading  the  music.  A  few  moments  later  she 
looked  up  and  found  Helen  holding  the  letter  in  one 
hand,  which  hung  down,  while  her  head  rested  in  the 
other,  and  she  was  evidently  deep  in  thought.  The 
long  lashes  concealed  the  bright  eyes,  and  the  dark  eye- 
brows were  contracted  as  if  iri  indignation. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Sophie,  hastily  closing 
the  book  and  putting  it  down  on  the  piano.  "  Have 
you  had  bad  news  1  " 

"  Oh  no.' "  replied  Helen,  who  had  gathered  herself  up 
at  the  first  sound  of  Sophie's  voice,  and  tried  to  smile. 
"  Oh  no  !     Papa  will  be  here  to-morrow,  that  is  all !  " 

"To  stay?"      • 

"  Yes !  " 

"  And  you— Helen  .'  " 


226  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"I  was  just  thinking:  about  that.  My  father  leaves 
the  choice  to  me,  but " 

The  young  girl  pavised,  and  assumed  the  same  half- 
thoughtful,  half-wrathful  expression  of  face.  She  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  Sophie's  presence.  All  of  a  sudden 
she  asked,  her  eyes  still  cast  down, 

"  Would  you,  if  you  had  been  insulted,  be  the  first  to 
offer  the  hand  for  reconciliation .-'  " 

Sophie  was  seriously  embarrassed  bv  this  question, 
the  meaning  of  which  she  could  easily  divine.  Helen 
had  never  spoken  to  her  about  her  affairs,  not  even  in 
allusions.  She  was  not  to  know  anything  of  them, 
therefore,  and  yet  it  did  not  suit  Helen's  candor,  and 
her  friendship  for  Helen,  to  affect  an  ignorance  and  an 
indifference  which  were  not  real. 

"  That  depends,"  she  replied,  after  a  short  pause,  "  on. 
what  the  offence  was,  and  above  all,  who  was  the  offend- 
ing person  !  " 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  There  are  offences,  I  think,  which  only  become  such 
by  our  own  making,  and  offenders  who  can  never  be 
such — who  ought  never  to  be  such — I  mean  persons 
who  stand  so  near  to  us,  with  whom  we  are  so  closely 
united  by  nature,  that  it  would  be  unnatural,  if " 

"  They  hated  us,"  interrupted  Helen,  quickly.  ,  "  But 
if  such  a  case  jdid  occur:  if  those  hated  each  other  for 
once,  who  ought  to  love  each  other;  if  they  persecuted 
and  warred  against  each  other,  who  ought  to  support, 
help,  and  bear  one  another — how  then  }  "  Helen  had 
risen ;  her  face  was  all  aglow ;  her  eyes  sparkled ;  her 
hands  were  firmly  closed — the  image  of  a  person  rejoic- 
ing in  combat  and  prepared  for  victory  or  death,  but 
never  for  surrender. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Sophie,  affecting  a  calmness 
which  she  did  not  possess ;  "  I  only  know  that  I  for  my 
part  could  never  be  placed  in  such  a  position.  I  could 
never  liate  brother  or  sister,  much  less  father  or  mother 
who  gave  me  life,  happen  what  would.  Are  they  not — 
myself.?     And  how  can  one  hate  one's  own  self.''  " 

"  Are  you  quite  so  sure  of  that .''  "  answered  Helen. 
"  How  do  you  know  it .-'     You  never  had  brother  or  sister ; 


Through  Night  to  Light.  227 

yovir  mother  died  very  early ;  your  father  has,  as  you 
told  me  yourself,  always  overwhelmed  you  with  un- 
bovmded  affection  ;  but  I — I  have  other " 

Helen  probably  felt  that  if  she  added  another  word 
she  would  not  be  able  to  keep  up  her  reserve  hereafter, 
and  broke  off  with  a  suddenness  which  showed  the  re- 
markable control  this  young  creature  had  already  ob- 
tained over  herself. 

"  But  we  are  losing  time,"  she  said,  with  a  totally 
changed  air,  tone,  and  carriage,  "  and  about  most  unprof- 
itable things.  Come,  we  must  hurry  to  get  back  to  our 
music!  " 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Helen  had  thus  suddenly 
given  a  new  turn  to  a  conversation  that  threatened 
to  become  too  intimate.  Sophie  had  to  submit  to  it, 
although  she  was  pained  by  this  want  of  confidence,  and 
especially  as  she  felt  how  Helen  was  entirely  left  alone, 
and  what  a  blessing  it  would  have  been  to  her  to  be  able 
to  pour  out  her  overburdened  heart  into  the  sympathiz- 
ing bosom  of  a  true  friend.  She  did  not  feel  offended, 
therefore,  by  Helen's  haughty  reserve ;  on  the  con- 
trary, she  was  more  than  ever  resolved  rather  to  make 
her  way  slowly  and  stealthily  into  Helen's  confidence, 
than  to  return  pride  for  pride  and  reticence  for  reti- 
cence. 

There  -was  to  be  more  than  one  occasion  offered  her 
to-day. 

They  had  been  playing  and  singing  at  Sophie's  house, 
almost  without  interruption,  until  it  began  to  grow  dark 
in  the  large  room,  which  was  in  the  lower  story.  They 
paused  because  they  could  not  see  very  well  any  longer, 
and  were  walking  up  and  down  in  the  room,  arm  in  arm, 
while  the  effect  of  the  music  was  still  vibrating  in  their 
hearts,  and  even  Helen's  proud  heart  felt  milder  and 
softer.  She  had  been  forcibly  reminded  of  the  death  of 
her  favorite  by  one  of  Robert  Schumann's  beautiful 
songs,  which  filled  her  with  sweet  pain.  The  sad, 
mournful  words,  with  the  sad,  plaintive  melody?  contin- 
ued in  her  ear — 

"  Thy  face,  alas  !  so  fair  and  dear, 
I  saw  it  in  my  dreams  quite  near; 


2  28  Through  Night  to  Light. 

It  was  so  angel-like,  so  sweet, 

And  yet  with  pain  and  grief  replete. 

The  lips  alone,  they  are  still  red. 

But  soon  they  also  will  be  pale  and  dead." 

She  thought  of  the  night  when  Baron  Oldenburg  had 
led  her  from  the  midst  of  the  dancers  to  Bruno's  dying 
bed ;  she  saw  again  how  at  her  entrance  the  boy's  eye 
flamed  up  in  his  deadly-pale  face. 

"The  lips  alone,  they  are  still  red. 
But  soon  they  also  will  be  pale  and  dead," 

she  murmured,  as  if  she  were  speaking  to  herself. 

"  This  song  seems  to  have  made  as  great  an  impres- 
sion upon  you  as  upon  Doctor  Stein,"  said  Sophie. 

"  Upon  whom .-'  "  cried  Helen,  suddenly  aroused  from 
her  dreams. 

"  Upon  Doctor  Stein !  your  Doctor  Stein !  "  replied 
Sophie,  as  indifferently  as  if  she  had  never  given  a 
thought  to  the  relations  which  might  possibly  exist  be- 
tween Oswald  and  Helen. 

"  When  did  you  see  him .?  "  asked  Helen  again,  in  her 
ordinary  calmly-grand  manner. 

"  Last  night,  here ;  for  the  first  time.  He  had  been  two 
days  in  town  without  having  seen  Franz.  Yesterday 
Franz  met  him  accidentally  in  the  street,  and  brought 
him  home  with  him.  Otherwise  Ave  should  probably 
have  had  to  wait  a  long  time  for  his  visit." 

"  How  so .''  " 

"  Well,  it  did  not  look  as  if  the  visit  gave  him  particu- 
lar pleasure.  Still  I  can  hardly  judge  of  that  fairly,  as 
yesterday  was  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him.  But  to  tell 
the  truth,  he  looked  to  me  as  if  nothing  in  the  world 
was  likely  to  give  him  much  pleasure.  Franz  says  it  is 
not  so  at  all,  but  he  admitted  that  Mr.  Stein  had  ciianged 
remarkably  in  the  short  time  during  which  they  had 
not  seen  each  other.  How  Avas  he  when  you  knew 
him .?  " 

Sophie  thought  she  felt  that  Helen's  heart  was  beat- 
ing higher,  as  she  asked  this  very  harmless  question. 
Yet  she  did  not  show  any  excitement  in  her  voice,  as  she 
answered : 

"  I  have  seldom  seen  Mr.  Stein  except  in  company, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  229 

and,  you  know,  there  we  have  very  little  opportunity  to 
see  men  as  they  really  are.  lie  looked  to  mc  generally 
very  grave,  almost  sad,  reserved,  and  silent,  especially 
during  the  last  weeks.  But  the  state  of  things  in  my 
family  at  that  time  Avas  such  as  to  produce  very  natur- 
ally such  an  effect.     How  was  he  yesterday.?  " 

"  That  is  difficult  to  say  for  one  who  is  as  little  of  a 
psychologist  as  I  am,"  replied  Sophie,  determined  to  tell 
the  truth,  even  if  it  should  hurt  Helen.  "  He  looked  to 
me  gay,  almost  exuberant,  but  not  cheerful ;  talkative, 
but  not  communicative  ;  witty,  but  not  entertaining;  in 
one  Avord,  a  combination  of  striking  contrasts,  which 
produced  a  very  painful  impression  on  me,  because  I 
love,  above  all,  what  is  clear,  easily  intelligible  and  sim- 
ple. I  was  especially  shocked  at  the  manner  in  which 
he  spoke  about  his  position  here  and  his  vocation  in  life. 
He  seemed  to  look  upon  everything  as  mere  play.  He 
gave  us  a  sketch  of  a  party  to  which  he  had  been  invited 
at  Mr.  Clemens's  house,  and  poured  a  perfect  flood  of 
irony  and  sarcasm  on  the  poor  people.  He  described 
his  solemn  installation  at  the  college,  which  had  taken 
place  that  morning,  and  represented  the  whole  as  a  scene 
in  a  puppet-show.  Franz  tells  me  he  has  something  of 
Doctor  Faust  in  his  nature;  to  me  he  looked  rather 
like  Mephistopheles.  Nor  did  I  think  him  so  very  hand- 
some, as  Franz  had  represented  him.  He  looked  pale 
and  haggard,  as  if  he  were  sick,  or  had  not  slept  for  sev- 
eral nights.  His  large  eyes  had  an  expression  weird  and 
ghost-like.  I  had  all  the  time  to  think  of  the  lines  :  '  It 
is  written  on  his  brow,  that  he  can  make  no  vow  of 
faithful  love  ' — or  however  the  verse  may  be." 

"  Then  he  must  indeed  have  changed  very  much," 
said  Helen. 

The  tone  in  which  the  young  girl  said  these  woi"ds 
was  so  very  sad,  that  Sophie  regretted  having  been  car- 
ried away  by  the  secret  antipathy  she  felt  in  her  heart 
against  Stein,  and  perhaps  still  more  by  a  desire  to  pro- 
voke Helen  by  violent  contradiction,  and  thus  to  punish 
her  for  her  reserve. 

"Still,  "she  said,  to  sooth  the  wound;  "still,  this  is 
not  to  be  my  final  judgment  about  Doctor  Stein;  it  is 


230  Through  Night  to  Light. 

nothing  but  a  first  impression.  I  shall  probably  think 
differently  about  him  when  I  see  him  more  frequently. 
Franz  is  so  very  fond  of  him,  and,  you  know,  we  girls 
when  we  are  engaged  are  apt  to  be  jealous.  But  I  just 
remember,  he  may  be  here  every  moment !  "  she  cried, 
interrupting  herself. 

"  Who .?  "  said  Helen,  "  Oswald  t  " 

"  I  had  really  quite  forgotten  it.  Thoughtless  girl 
that  I  am  !  " 

"  What  is  it }  " 

"  Stein  and  Franz  had  agreed  to  hear  a  lecture  by 
Professor  Benseler  together.  And  Franz  has  gone 
directly  after  dinner  to  see  a  patient  of  father's  In  the 
country.  I  was  to  have  sent  word  to  Stein.  I  wonder 
if  it  is  time  yet.i*  " 

"  It  is  half-past  five  now,"  said  Helen,  stepping  to  the 
window  to  look  at  her  watch.  "  It  is  almost  dark  and  I 
must  make  haste  to  get  home." 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"There  he  is!  "  cried  the  two  young  ladies  unisono, 
trembling  like  a  couple  of  deer  when  a  shot  is  fired  in 
the  woods. 

Another  knock. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  whispered  Helen,  who  seemed 
to  have  lost  all  her  self-control. 

"  Of  course  we  must  say  :  '  Walk  in  ! '  What  else  can 
we  do .''  "  replied  Sophie,  laughing  involuntarily.  "  Walk 
in!" 

The  person  who  entered  was  probably  unable  to 
recognize  the  ladies  in  the  half-dark  room  ;  he  remained 
standing  near  the  door,  as  if  he  hesitated. 

"Come  nearer,  doctor,"  said  Sophie,  holding  Helen's 
hands.  "  I  must  ask  your  pardon  for  receiving  you  in 
the  dark  ;  but  we  will  have  light  directly." 

Oswald  had  approached  her  as  she  said  these  words, 
and  had  bowed  to  the  ladies.  Evidently  he  had  not  yet 
recognized  Helen,  who  stood  aside,  looking  towards  the 
window. 

"  I  have  to  ask  pardon,"  he  said,  "  for  I  fear  I  have  in- 
terrupted the  ladies.  But  as  I  found  nobody  in  the 
hall " 


Through  Nig  hi  to  Light.  231 

Suddenly  he  stopped  ;  the  blood  rushed  to  his  heart. 
He  shuddered  all  over.  Was  not  the  silent  figure  by 
Miss  Roban,  Helen .?  He  approached  a  little  nearer. 
There  was  no  doubt;  that  head  whose  outline  she  had  so 
often  admired  almost  reverently,  could  belong  to  no 
one  but  Helen  .  .  .  He  hardly  heard  it  as  Sophie  said  : 
"  You  do  not  recognize  Friiulein  von  Grenwitz  ;  I  vcill 
go  myself  to  order  lights."  He  heard  the  door  close 
behind  Miss  Roban ;  he  only  knew  that  he  was  alone 
with  her.  He  knelt  down  before  her  and  seized  her 
hand  to  cover  it  with  burning  kisses. 

The  surprise  and  the  darkness  favored  Oswald's  bold- 
ness. Helen  trembled  so  violently  that  she  could  not 
prevent  him ;  she  had  barely  strength  enough  to  say  : 

"  For  God's  sake,  Oswald,  get  up  !  I  pray  you,  get 
up !  " 

It  was  high  time,  for  at  that  moment  Sophie  returned, 
followed  by  a  servant  who  brought  a  lamp. 

Oswald  succeeded  in  checking  his  emotion.  Helen 
turned  to  the  window,  under  the  pretext  that  the  sudden 
light  was  dazzling  her  eyes,  and  looked  down  upon  the 
street,  while  Sophie  explained  Franz's  absence. 

"  Then  I  will  not  deprive  the  ladies  for  another  mo- 
ment of  the  enjoyment  of  a  friendly  chat,"  said  Osjvald, 
bowing  to  take  leave. 

"Why,  Doctor,"  said  Sophie,  gayly,  "are  you  such  a 
foe  to  friendly  chats  that  your  presence  must  need  make 
an  end  to  them  ?  You  ought  rather  to  sit  down  and  do 
credit  to  Franz,  who  calls  you  the  most  entertaining 
companion  he  knows.  Come,  Helen,  take  a  seat  here 
by  the  fire-place.  Miss  Mai  will  not  cry  too  bitterly  if 
you  stay  a  little  longer." 

Oswald  had  just  been  about  to  accept  the  offered  seat; 
but  when  he  heard  that  Helen  possibly  might  not  stay, 
he  contented  himself  with  a  silent  bow,  to  acknowledge 
Sophie's  invitation. 

"  Thanks,  dear  Sophie,"  said  Helen,  turning  round 
from  the  window,  "but  I  must  really  go — another  time." 

She  had  apparently  regained  her  usual  calmness ; 
only  a  very  acute  observer  might  have  noticed  in  the 
>ieeper  red  of  her  cheeks  the  last  trace  of  past  emotion, 


^32  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  in  her  cast-down  eyes  the  desire  to  conceal  the  lat- 
ter from  observation. 

Oswald,  who  was  looking  around  for  the  means  to 
retain  Helen  a  few  moments  longer,  saw  the  piano  open, 
and  music  lying  upon  the  desk.  He  took  up  the  first 
piece  he  found;  it  was  Robert  Schumann's  composi- 
tion. 

"  Oh  pray,,  pray,  Miss  Helen,"  he  said,  "if  you  have  a 
minute  to  spare,  sing  this  song.  It  deserves  to  be  sung 
by  you  !  " 

"We  have  just  sung  it  over,"  said  Sophie;  "it  is 
really  very  fine,  and  Fraulein  von  Grenwitz  sings  it 
beautifully.     Will  you  sing  it,  dear  Helen .?  " 

If  there  was  a  question  of  music,  no  one  was  more 
eager  than  Sophie.  Taking  Helen's  consent,  therefore, 
for  granted,  she  had  placed  the  music  on  the  stand, 
taken  her  seat  on  the  edge  of  the  piano-stool,  as  she 
liked  to  do,  and  was  looking  expectingly  at  Helen,  while 
she  played  a  few  bars  of  a  prelude. 

Thus  Helen  saw  herself  forced  to  lay  aside  her  hat, 
which  she  was  already  holding  in  her  hand,  and  to  step 
up  to  the  piano,  although  she  felt  at  that  moment  little 
disposed  to  sing,  since  her  young,  full  heart  was  still 
trembling  under  the  effect  of  the  passionate  scene  which 
had  just  taken  place. 

Oswald  stood  a  few  steps  off",  leaning  with  folded  arms 
against  the  mantelpiece,  his  eyes  fixed  immovably  on 
the  two  slender  forms.  And,  indeed,  the  sight  was  such 
as  to  arrest  his  attention ;  a  more  charming  one  could 
hardly  have  been  found. 

One  might  have  doubted  at  that  moment  which  of 
the  two  was — not  the  more  beautiful,  for  Helen  was  in- 
disputably the  fairer — but  the  more  interesting.  The 
harmony  of  most  lovely  features,  the  velvety  softness  of 
a  dark  complexion,  and  the  bluish  blackness  of  her  rich 
hair — all  this  spoke  in  favor  of  Helen,  and  seemed  to 
raise  her  to  inapproachable  heights  of  beauty ;  but  the 
expression  in  Sophie's  face  as  she  sat  there,  given  up  to 
her  music,  now  bending  over  the  keys,  and  coaxing  out, 
as  It  were,  tne  sort  notes,  and  now  looking  up  as  if  she 
was  following  the  escaping  sounds  in  the  air,  would 


Through  Night  to  Light.  233 

have  been  ample  compensation  for  him  \\\\o  finds  the 
greatest  beauty  in  the  most  spiritual  expression.  As  a 
favorable  glance  of  sunlight  may  often  pour  over  a  land- 
scape, which  has  no  charms  of  its  own,  a  marvellous 
beauty,  so  the  noble,  art-loving  soul  of  the  girl  lighted 
up  and  made  brilliant  her  face,  which  was  far  from 
being  really  beautiful.  There  was  something  of  Bee- 
thoven's nature  in  it — the  meteoric  light  which  the  freed 
spirit  of  man  casts  through  the  vast  night  of  sensuality 
into  the  unbounded  regions  of  eternal  lightness.  And, 
strangely  enough,  in  the  same  measure  in  which  music 
heightened  the  expression  in  Sophie's  face,  it  softened  the 
harshness  in  Helen's  energetic  beauty,  by  giving  her 
proud  features  a  mildness  which  they  never  showed  in 
ordinary  life.  The  harmony  of  sweet  notes  awakened 
there  the  slumbering  genius,  and  put  here  the  demon 
of  pride  and  ambition  to  sleep,  so  that  the  poetic  excite- 
ment benefitted  both,  though  in  quite  opposite  ways. 

So  it  seemed  to  Oswald,  while  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
charming  picture  of  the  two  girls  at  the  piano.  Helen 
seemed  to  him  almost  a  stranger;  he  had  to  become 
once  more  familiar  with  her  beauty ;  and  yet,  it  did  not 
make  the  same  overwhelming  impression  upon  him  as 
before.  He  ascribed  this  partly  to  the  unaccustomed 
surroundings,  partly  to  the  attractive  form  of  Sophie, 
which  interrupted  him  in  his  devotion.  He  did  not  know 
that  since  he  had  seen  Helen  last,  the  mirror  of  his  soul 
had  become  dim,  and  was  no  longer  able  to  reflect  a 
pure  image  purely.  In  vain  he  tried  to  catch  a  glance 
from  Helen.  If  Sophie  was  so  entirely  given  up  to  her 
music  that  she  had  really  forgotten  his  presence, 
Helen  seemed  at  least  to  be  in  the  same  state  of  mind. 
She  did  not  raise  her  eyes  from  the  music.  Oswald 
rejoiced  at  it.  He  concluded  from  it  that  his  stormy 
greeting  was,  if  not  forgiven,  still  also  not  yet  for- 
gotten. 

They  had  drifted,  as  is  apt  to  happen  in  such  cases, 
from  one  song  into  a  second,  and  from  that  into  a  third 
and  fourth.  But  suddenly  Helen  declared  she  must  go 
home  now.  Oswald,  who  thought  that  of  course  a  serv- 
ant from  the  institute  was  waiting  outside,  was  just 


234  Through  Night  to  Light. 

considering  how  he  should  manage  to  ask  her  permis- 
sion to  see  her  home,  wlien  Sophie's  question  :  "but  you 
cannot  go  home  alone?"  relieved  him  of  his  trouble. 
What  was  more  natural  than  that  he  should  make  his 
bow  and  politely  offer  his  arm  to  Friiulein  von  Gren- 
witz,  and  that  Friiulein  von  Grenwitz  should  accept  it 
with  a  haughty  bend  of  her  head  ! 

Sophie  was  just  buttoning  the  young  lady's  velvet 
cloak,  and  tying  a  white  fichu  around  her  neck,  "  that 
your  voice  may  not  come  to  harm,  Helen !  "  and  Oswald 
was  standing,  hat  in  hand,  by  her  side,  when  the  door 
opened,  before  any  one  had  heard  a  knock,  and  in 
walked  Mr.  Bemperlein. 

Oswald,  who  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  door, 
only  became  aware  of  Bemperlein's  presence  when  he 
heard  Sophie's  greeting :  "  How  do  you  do,  Bemperly .?  " 
and  turned  round  to  see  the  new  comer.  At  the  same 
moment  Bemperlein  recognized  Oswald. 

They  had  not  seen  each  other  since  that  night  in 
which  Bemperlein  had  come  to  carry  Melitta  to  Fichte- 
nan  and  surprised  the  lovers  in  the  park.  They  had  then 
parted  in  cordial  friendship  ;  and  now,  after  so  many 
weeks,  when  they  saw  each  other  again,  neither  offered 
his  hand  to  the  other,  neither  greeted  the  other  with  a 
smile,  nor  with  a  hearty  word  of  kindness.  Their  whole 
Avelcome  consisted  in  a  formal  bow  a.nd  a  few  indifferent 
phrases,  so  that  Sophie,  who  had  thought  Oswald  and 
Bemperlein  were  intimate  friends,  was  not  a  little  sur- 
prised and  did  not  exactly  know  what  she  ought  to  do 
in  such  an  unforeseen  case.  However,  the  embarrassing 
situation  was  not  to  last  long ;  for  Sophie  had  scarcely 
introduced  Mr.  Bemperlein  to  Friiulein  von  Grenwitz — 
who  either  did  not  recollect  the  tutor,  whom  she  yet  had 
often  enough  seen  at  Berkow,  or  did  not  choose  to  ac- 
knowledge it  in  words — when  Helen  and  Oswald  left 
the  room.  Sophie  went  as  far  as  the  door  with  them, 
while  Bemperlein  remained  standing  near  the  fire-place, 
his  hands  on  his  back,  and  his  eyes  rigidly  fixed  upon 
the  ground. 

It  was  almost  night  when  Helen  and  Oswald  found 
themselves  in  the  ill-lighted  street. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  235 

"  "What  way  shall  we  go  ?  "  asked  Oswald. 

"  I  thought  there  was  but  one  way?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  we  might  go  the  way  by  the  ramparts.  It 
is  nearer  and  more  pleasant  walking  there  than  on  the 
rough  pavement." 

"  As  you  like  it !  " 

"  Will  you  take  my  arm  now  ?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  Oswald  had  had  an  opportunity 
to  take  Helen's  arm.  He  took  pains  not  to  shorten  the 
pleasure  of  walking  arm  in  arm  with  the  girl  he  loved 
through  the  dark  night.  The  way  he  had  proposed 
Avas  not  only  much  longer,  but  also  much  darker.  It 
led  between  the  walls  of  the  city  and  the  ramparts  of 
the  fortress — a  pleasant  walk  in  summer  and  by  day, 
but  very  unattractive  on  a  dark  autumn  evening. 

"  It  is  darker  than  I  thought,"  said  Oswald,  when  they 
had  left  the  damp  gate  in  the  city  wall,  where  the  last 
lamp  was  burning,  and  had  reached  the  ramparts ;  "  had 
we  better  turn  back  }  " 

"  Not  on  my  account ;  I  like  it  quite  well  so." 

"  At  least,  please  wrap  yourself  up  well  in  your  cloak  ; 
the  wind  is  blowing  very  keen  from  the  sea,  and  the  air 
is  damp  and  cold." 

They  went  on  for  a  few  moments  in  silence.  The  dry 
leaves  of  the  trees,  with  which  the  walk  was  covered, 
rustled  under  their  feet ;  plaintive  sounds  were  heard 
in  the  air ;  it  sounded  like  the  groaning  and  sighing  of 
a  shivering  patient. 

"  How  must  it  look  now  in  the  Grenwitz  park  ? " 
asked  Oswald. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  it,"  replied  Helen. 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  there  at  this  moment !  " 

"  What  would  you  do  there  ?  " 

"  I  would  saunter  through  the  familiar  walks,  between 
the  yew-hedges  in  the  garden  below,  and  under  the 
beech-trees  on  the  wall  above,  and  talk  with  the  slender 
crescent  of  the  moon,  as  it  dances  in  the  clouds,  and 
with  the  night-wind  as  it  blows  through  the  branches 
and  around  the  castle,  of  the  blissful  hours  that  are  no 
more,  and  can  return  no  more." 

"Then  you  like  to  think  of  Grenwitz," 


236  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?  Have  I  not  spent  the  happiest 
days  of  all  my  joyless  life  there  ?  What  do  I  care  now 
for  all  the  bitter  drops  that  fell  into  the  cup  of  intoxicat- 
ing sweetness  ?  I  know  nothing  any  more  of  them.  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  lived  then  for  the  first  and  last  time  of 
my  life,  and  as  if  I  had  since  died  together  with  the 
flowers  in  the  garden  and  with  the  sunlight  that  was 
playing  in  the  morning  on  the  dewy  branches  and  scat- 
tering strange  shadows  on  the  paths.  Happy  he  whose 
life  really  came  to  an  end  with  that  precious  summer." 

"  Happy  indeed  !  "  whispered  Helen. 

"  Yes,  happy !  He  enjoyed  for  an  hour  the  sight  of 
what  was  most  beautiful,  most  glorious  to  him,  and  then 
he  passed  away  like  the  rosy  breath  of  morning  in  the 
rays  of  the  much-beloved  sun.  He  was  relieved  of  the 
burden  of  the  oppressive  heat  and  the  stifling  dvist  of 
noon.  He  needed  not  cover  himself  shuddering  against 
the  sharp  evening  wind  ;  he  did  not  see  the  beautiful, 
gay  world  sink  into  weird  darkness.  Pardon  me,  I 
pray.  Miss  Helen  ;  this  is  the  second  time  to-night  I 
am  carried  away  by  the  recollection  of  my  departed  dar- 
ling. But  I  cannot  tell  you  how  strangely  the  sight  of 
you  and  your  presence  recalls  to  me  his  memory.  The 
scarred  wounds  bleed  afresh,  and  the  dry  eyes  begin  to 
weep  once  more." 

"  Is  it  not  so  with  me  too  .''  "  said  Helen,  and  her  voice 
trembled. 

"  Then  you  loved  him  too  .''  But  no,  I  did  not  mean 
to  ask  you  that.  How  could  you  help  loving  him — fair 
and  brave,  good  and  marvellously  lovely  as  he  was,  and 
when  he  loved  you  so !  loved  you  inexpressibly !  Oh, 
Miss  Helen,  do  you  really  know  how  dearly  he  loved 
you.''-  Do  you  know  that  he  loved  you  unto  death — that 
he  loved  you  more  than  his  own  life.''  " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Helen,  in  a  whisper. 

"  More  than  his  life,"  continued  Oswald,  passionately; 
"  beyond  death.  It  was  on  his  last  day,  a  few  hours  be- 
fore his  death,  that  he  showed  me  a  medallion  with  a 
lock  of  your  hair,  which  he  wore  in  his  bosom,  and  beg- 
ged me  to  place  it  in  his  grave  by  his  side.  I  was  not 
able  to  fulfil  his  wish.     You  know  that  I  left  the  castle 


Through  Night  to  Light.  237 

the  next  morning,  not  knowing  whether  I  should  ever 
put  my  foot  inside  again,  whether  I  should  be  allowed 
to  watch  over  my  departed  darling  till  his  last  mo- 
ment. I  could  not  bear  tlie  terrible  thought  that  the 
precious  jewel  might  fall  into  profane  hands ;  I  took  it, 
therefore,  with  the  intention  to  hand  it  to  you,  who 
alone  have  a  legitimate  claim  to  it.  I  still  have  it  in 
my  keeping.  When  do  you  desire  me  to  send  it  to 
you  .'' " 

They  had  passed  through  the  gate  of  the  fortress,  and 
were  now  walking  down  a  street  in  the  suburb,  beneath 
tall,  whispering  poplar-trees.  Oswald  tried  to  read 
Helen's  face  by  the  uncertain  light  of  the  moon,  which 
was  just  peeping  out  from  behind  drifting  clouds.  She 
looked  pale  and  deeply  moved.  Her  arm  rested  more 
firmly  on  his  arm,  when  she  replied,  after  a  pause, 

"  Is  the  medallion  very  dear  to  you.-*  " 

"  Can  you  ask  me.-"  " 

"  No,  no !  do  not  misunderstand  me;  I  am  not  insen- 
sible; not  ungrateful  for  love  and  friendship.  Keep  the 
medallion  !  Keep  it  in  memory  of  your — of  our  dar- 
ling!  " 

"  Only  in  memory  of  him }  It  is  your  hair,  Miss 
Helen  ;  and  only  in  memory  of  him  .''  " 

"  And — of  me  !  " 

Oswald  took  the  small  hand  which  was  resting  on  his 
arm  and  carried  it  to  his  lips. 

"  You  make  me  very  proud  and  happy,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  done  nothing  to  deserve  so  great  a  favor ;  but 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  would  grace  be  grace  if  it  could 
be  deserved.'' " 

"  You  are  overwhelming  me  with  your  modesty.  You 
wish  me  to  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness,  as  I  ought 
to  thank  you,  and  yet  am  not  able  to  do.  You  have  al- 
ways been  very  kind  to  me  ;  you  stood  by  me  when  even 
my  nearest  relatives  rose  against  me,  and  at  the  very 
last " 

"  I  did  nothing  but  what  I  would  do  again  at  the  peril 
of  my  life.  But  here  we  are  at  Miss  Bear's  house.  Is 
the  gate  locked?  " 

"No." 


238  ^    Through  Night  to  Light. 

They  went  through  the  small  garden  up  to  the  house- 
door.     Oswald  rang  the  bell. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  again  .''  " 

"  I  go  often  to  Doctor  Rohan's !  " 

The  door  was  unlocked  from  within. 

"  Good-night  !  " 

"  Good-night !  " 

Oswald  seized  Helen's  hand  and  pressed  it  passion- 
ately to  his  lips. 

The  door  opened. 

"  Till  next  time  !  "  whispered  Oswald. 

"  Till  next  time  !  "  replied  Helen,  in  a  still  lower  tone. 

Oswald  thought  she  mentioned  his  name  also.  The 
next  instant  she  had  disappeared  in  the  house. 

Oswald  went  back  into  the  town  in  a  state  of  excite- 
ment which  was  by  no  means  altogether  joyous.  Pure, 
chaste  joy  could  no  longer  enter  his  heart — as  little  as 
we  are  able  to  play  a  correct  air  upon  an  instrument  out 
of  tune. 

Thus  he  reached  town.  Where  Market  street  opens 
upon  the  square  all  the  Avindows  were  brilliantly  lighted 
up  in  the  corner  house,  carriage  after  carriage  drove  up 
to  the  door,  dressed-up  ladies  and  gentlemen  stepped 
out  and  disappeared  under  the  lofty  portal.  When  Os- 
wald, walking  close  to  the  house,  had  come  immediately 
in  front  of  the  door,  another  carriage  was  driving  up. 
The  driver  checked  the  fiery  horses  too  violently,  and 
the  servant,  who- was  just  jumping  down  from  the  box, 
was  thrown  violently  upon  the  ground.  He  gathered 
himself  up  immediately,  but  the  pain  was  probably  too 
great — he  remained  immovable,  as  if  stunned.  Oswald, 
who  had  seen  that  there  was  only  a  lady  in  the  coupe, 
who  had  already  risen,  expecting  the  door  to  be  opened, 
seized  the  bolt,  opened  the  door,  and  offered  his  hand  to 
the  lady,  who,  placing  her  hand  in  the  well-fitting  white 
glove  unsuspiciovisly  upon  his  arm,  came  down  in  a 
cloud  of  tulle  and  laces. 

At  that  moment  the  light  from  the  interior  of  the 
house  fell  brightly  upon  the  lady  and  Oswald,  and  the 
former  uttered  a  cry,  remaining  motionless,  and  staring 
at  Oswald  with  Avide,  open  eyes. 


Through  JVight  to  Light.  239 

A  deep  blusli  overspread  her  face,  her  eyes  flamed 
up — was  it  love  or  was  it  hatred,  who  knows  ?  Her  lips 
trembled ;  evidently  she  had  been  overcome  with  sur- 
prise. 

The  poor  servant,  who  came  limping  vip,  hat  in  hand, 
broke  the  charm. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  lady " 

Oswald's  face  showed  an  ironical  smile. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  my  iady,"  he  said,  offering  his 
hand  to  escort  her  up  the  steps. 

Oswald  felt  the  slender  fingers  grasping  his  arm  very 
firmly. 

"  Was  it  not  your  will .''  "  she  whispered.  And  now  he 
knew  that  the  great  gray  eyes  had  flowed  up  with  love, 
and  not  with  hatred.  "  Many  thanks  !  Let  me  see  you 
soon.     I  promise  you  Cloten  will  receive  you  well!  " 

They  had  reached  the  last  step. 

Oswald  bowed. 

"  Then  I  shall  see  you  again  .''  " 

"  I  will  come  !  " 

The  young  lady  entered  the  house.  Oswald  went 
down  the  steps,  past  the  lame  servant,  who  was  still 
rubbing  his  knees,  and  looked  wonderingly  at  his  im- 
provised colleague. 

Oswald  laughed  aloud  as  he  went  on  :  "  Emily  Brce- 
sen — Frau  von  Cloten !  And  merely  because  I  would 
have  it  so  !  And  if  I  should  not  wish  it  to  be  so  any 
longer — w^hat  then  }  " 


CHAPTER   II. 

DURING  the  next  eight  days  the  last  crows  had 
come  to  town  from  the  woods,  and  moved  into 
their  winter  quarters  in  the  steeples;   likewise,  it 
was  reported  in  well-informed  circles,  that  of  the  noble 
families  who  used  to  spend  their  winter  in  Grunvvald, 
not  one  of  importance  had  remained  in  the  country. 


240  Through  Night  to  Light. 

The  increased  animation  which  filled  the  otherwise  quiet 
streets,  proved  this  sufficiently.  At  the  theatre,  the  front 
boxes,  which  were  exclusively  reserved  for  the  nobility, 
now  overflowed  every  night.  The  good  citizens  of  Grun- 
wald  were  often  frightened  out  of  their  first  sleep  by  the 
noise  of  furiously-driven  carriages,  and  twelve  hours 
afterwards  the  same  carnages  came  thundering  back 
again  through  the  streets,  when  the  disturbers  of  their 
nightly  rest  had  slept  long  enough,  and  felt  an  irre- 
pressible desire  to  see  each  other  again  after  so  long  an 
interval,  and  to  exchange  their  views  about  the  inter- 
esting events  of  the  last  ball — how  often  young  Count 
Grieben  had  danced  with  the  youngest  Miss  Nadelitz, 
and  what  a  strange  head-dress  the  Baroness  Renrien 
had  worn. 

Last  night  there  had  been  a  great  ball  at  Count 
Grieben's;  and  to-morrow  was  to  be  a  great  party 
at  the  Grenwitz  mansion,  the  first  they  had  given  this 
season.  As  the  local  etiquette  required  that  the  in- 
vited guests  should  call  on  their  host  before  the  party, 
as  well  as  after  it,  visits  had  to  be  paid  to-day  at  both 
houses.  The  rolling  of  carriages  had,  therefore,  no  end 
tc-day. 

When  visitors  were  expected  in  larger  numbers,  the 
large  reception-rooms  of  the  Grenwitz  mansion,  which 
fronted  upon  the  street,  laid  aside  their  reserve  and 
opened  their  doors  to  all  comers.  So  it  was  to-day.  A 
dozen  visitors  had  been  there ;  another  dozen  Avere  ex- 
pected. Just  now  there  was  a  pause.  It  so  happened 
that  only  the  baron  and  the  baroness  were  sitting  in  the 
parlor. 

Any  one  who  should  have  observed  them  just  now, 
as  they  were  escorting  Mrs.  Nadelitz  and  her  three 
daughters  with  smiles  and  compliments  to  the  parlor 
door,  and  who  should  have  seen  them  after  the  door 
had  been  closed,  would  have  been  greatly  astonished  at 
their  altered  appearance.  The  old  gentleman  sank 
with  an  air  of  thorough  weariness  into  his  easy-chair, 
and  Anna  Maria  sat  down  opposite  to  him  on  a  sofa, 
with  a  face  from  which  all  smiles  had  vanished  to  give 
way  to  clouds  of  deepest  indignation.     There  liad  cvi- 


Through  Kight  to  Light.  241 

dently  been  a  scene  between  the  two  before  the  last 
visitors  came,  such  as  is  not  unusual  in  regular  family- 
dramas,  and  the  question  was  now,  simplv,  which  of  the 
two  was  to  resume  first  the  interrupted  dialogue. 

In  former  days  this  would  have  evidently  been  the 
privilege  of  Anna  Maria,  who  enjoyed  strife,  and  felt 
sure  of  victory.  But  strangely  enough,  husband  and 
wife  seemed  recently  to  have  exchanged  parts.  The 
baron  was  almost  transformed  since  Bruno's  death  and 
Helen's  departure  from  home.  Formerly  good-natured, 
yielding,  and  peaceful,  he  had  become  sensitive,  grum- 
bling, and  obstinate.  This  change  might  have  been  in 
part  the  effect  of  his  bad  state  of  health  and  his  decline, 
which  had  become  very  perceptible  in  the  last  weeks  ; 
but  sometimes  it  looked  as  if  the  cause  was  a  deeper 
one — as  if  the  recent  events  had  roused  the  old  gentle- 
man from  his  lethargy,  and  shown  him  many  things 
and  many  persons  in  a  very  different  light  from  that  in 
which  he  had  seen  them  before.  He  who  had  formerly 
hardly  taken  a  glass  of  water  without  first  consulting 
his  Anna  Maria,  suddenly  began  to  act  for  himself,  even 
to  think  for  himself,  and  to  have  positive  views  of  his 
own,  which  he  maintained  with  that  obstinacy  and  per- 
tinacity which  is  often  observed  in  weak  minds.  He 
had  had  attacks  of  this  obstinacy  in  former  years  also, 
but  now  the  sporadic  occurrences  seemed  to  have 
changed  into  a  chronic  disease.  People  are  apt  to  say 
of  somebody  who  acts  in  an  extraordinary  manner,  "he 
won't  live  long;  "  and  if  there  is  any  reason  for  this  as- 
sertion, the  days  of  the  baron  must  have  been  num- 
bered. Perhaps  this  was  really  so,  and  the  baron  sus- 
pected it  secretly,  so  that  he  made  unheard-of  efforts  of 
his  mind  and  his  will,  exactly  as  old,  very  sedate  canary- 
birds  are  apt  to  hop  about  and  to  flutter  with  nervous 
violence  a  few  minutes  before  composing  themselves  to 
sleep. 

Such  a  nervous  violence  characterized  the  manner  in 
which  the  old  gentleman,  now  taking  a  pinch  from  his 
gold  snuff-box,  closed  the  top,  and  then  said,  as  if  Anna 
Maria  had  given  him  the  cue  just  then,  and  not  already, 
half  an  hour  ago  : 


242  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Stay  !  Everything  must  have  an  end ;  ^ye  cannot 
leave  Helen  forever  at  Miss  Bear's." 

"  I  am  not  accustomed,"  replied  Anna  Maria,  taking- 
up  her  embroidering — she  liked  to  be  found  busy  at  work 
when  visitors  came — "  I  am  not  accustomed  to  say  one 
thing  to-day  and  to-morrow  another  thing.  Others  may 
think  differently  about  it.  We  would  make  ourselves 
ridiculous  before  the  whole  world  if  we  were  to  take 
Helen  back  after  four  weeks." 

"  It  is  nearly  six  weeks,"  growled  the  baron. 

"  Four  or  six,  that  makes  no  difference." 

"  It  does  for  me.  I  am  an  old  man  ;  I  may  die  to-mor- 
row." 

"  You  have  said  so  these  ten  years." 

"  If  I  have  said  so  for  ten  years,"  replied  the  baron, 
deeply  offended  by  the  indifference  which  lay  in  the 
words  of  his  wife,  "  it  is  because  I  have  not  had  a  well 
day  for  ten  years ;  and  one  of  these  days  the  morning 
will  break  when  I  am  no  more,  and  that  is  why  I 
should  like  to  have  my  daughter  near  me  again  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  And  of  your  son  you  say  nothing ;  you  do  not 
mind  whether  Malte  is  well  or  unwell.  And  yet  it  is 
Malte  in  whom  all  our  hopes  are  centring.  You 
ought  to  thank  God  that  you  have  a  son  who  can  in- 
herit the  estate  ;  instead  of  that  it  is  Helen,  and  all  the 
time  Helen,  whom  you  consider  as  all-important." 

"  I  thank  God  that  I  have  a  son,  and  I  thank  you  that 
you  have  given  me  a  son  ;  not  because  he  is  my  heir, 
but  because  he  is  my  flesh  and  blood,  whom  I  can  love, 
as  I  love  my  daughter  also.  As  to  the  estate,  you  know 
my  views  about  that.  I  abhor  entails,  which  only  serve 
to  create  discord  in  the  family." 

The  b^ron  took  a  pinch,  evidently  in  order  to  be 
calm  ;  but  the  remedy  seemed  this  time  to  have  the 
opposite  effect,  for  he  continued,  after  this  interruption, 
with  increasing  violence : 

"  Why  did  you  want  to  marry  your  daughter  absolutely 
to  Felix  }  Because  Felix  may  possibly  one  of  these  days 
inherit  the  entail !  Why  is  Felix  your  special  protege.^ 
Because  he  may  possibly  inherit  the  entail !     Why  must 


Through  Night  to  Light.  243 

I  have  Felix  in  my  house,  whom  I  cannot  bear,  and  do 
without  Helen,  whom  I  love?  Because  Felix  may  in- 
herit the  entail !  " 

"  Don't  repeat  yourself  so  often,  dear  Grenwitz,"  said 
Anna  Maria  in  a  quiet  tone,  which  did  not  harmonize  at 
all  with  the  deep-red  spots  on  her  cheeks  and  the  pierc- 
ing sharpness  of  her  large  gray  eyes,  "  and  do  not  excite 
yourself  unnecessarily  so  much,  your  cough  will  return 
directly.  It  matters  very  little  how  you  think  about 
entailed  estates.  You  cannot  change  them,  God  be 
thanked.  But  as  for  me,  you  must  permit  me  to  think 
differently  about  it,  and  to  do  in  that  direction  what  I 
think  is  my  duty.  If  you  have  no  duties  to  fulfil  to 
your  children,  I  have.  If  you  are  willing  to  give  your 
daughter  to  the  first  adventurer  who  wants  her,  or 
whom  she  wants — you  need  not  stamp  impatiently  with 
your  sick  foot ;  and  you  will  spill  the  snuff  on  the  carpet 
if  you  knock  your  box  so  violently  on  the  arm  of  the 
chair.  I  say,  if  it  is  indifferent  to  you  Avhom  Helen 
marries,  it  is  not  so  to  me.  I  have  advocated  the  mar- 
riage with  Felix,  not  from  obstinacy,  which  I  leave  to 
others,  but  because  I  thought  it  was  a  good  match,  the 
best  which  a  girl  without  fortune  could  make.  You 
can  see  how  little  obstinate  I  am  when  you  consider 
that  I  am  no  longer  in  favor  of  the  match  since 
Felix's  accident,  since  the  doctor  thinks  he  is  consump- 
tive. On  the  contrary,  as  soon  as  it  is  well  ascertained 
that  Felix  wont  live  long,  I  shall  be  one  of  the  first 
to  drop  him,  especially  as  he  will  leave  nothing  but 
debts." 

The  old  gentleman  seemed  to  be  by  no  means  pleased 
with  this  exhibition  of  cold-blooded  egotism.  He  had 
a  kind  of  dim  perception — not  the  first  of  its  kind — that 
his  highly  moral  wife  might  possibly  have  a  very  bad 
heart,  and  he  sighed.  It  is  bitter  to  have  to  give  up  in 
the  evening  of  life  an  illusion  whicli  we  have  indulged 
in  for  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

He  fell  into  silent  meditation.  What  it  was  that  had 
occupied  his  thoughts,  he  showed  in  the  first  words  tliat 
fell  from  him.  After  a  pause,  during  which  Anna  Maria 
had  been  busy  at  her  work,  in  nervous  silence  : 


244  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  At  least,  be  kind  to  her  to-morrow  when  she  comes 
to  see  us." 

"  I  have  always  known  what  my  duty  is,"  replied  the 
baroness,  looking  up  from-  her  work  and  raising  her  eye- 
brows.    "  I  shall  know  it  in  this  case  also." 

The  baron  apparently  did  not  feel  quite  reassured  by 
her  words ;  but  before  he  could  find  words  to  express 
his  apprehension,  the  servant  opened  the  door  and  an- 
nounced, "Baron  and  Baroness  Barnewitz." 

The  two  entered  the  room. 

Baron  Barnewitz  and  his  wife  had  only  come  to  town 
the  day  before.  Baron  Barnewitz  was  a  great  hunter 
before  the  Lord,  and  did  not  like  to  leave  his  dogs  and 
his  horses.  He  had  not  come  much  into  the  parlor  since 
the  hunting  season  had  opened,  and  he  still  bore  the 
traces  of  his  last  fox-hunt.  His  shoulders  and  his  red 
beard  looked  still  broader,  and  his  voice  was  louder  and 
hoarser  than  usual.  Hortense  Barnewitz,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  a  shade  paler  and  lighter  than  in  the  summer, 
and  looked  a  great  deal  more  wearied  and  fatigued. 
Her  lips  were  thinner,  and  her  blue  eyes  had  become 
sharper.  She  evidently  began  to  find  life,  all  in  all,  un- 
profitable, especially  since  last  night.  She  had  been  sadly 
neglected  at  the  ball  for  the  sake  of  younger  and  more 
attractive  ladies. 

"  Oh,  at  last  we  have  the  pleasure!  "  said  Anna  Maria, 
rising  to  meet  her  guests,  with  the  stereotyped  gracious 
smile  which  she  always  held  ready  for  such  occasions. 

"Entirely  our  own  pleasure,  madame,"  cried  the  fox- 
hunter,  kissing  the  thin  hand  of  the  baroness  ;  "entirely 
our  own.  By  God,  could  not  come  sooner.  Arrived 
yesterday  at  noon ;  last  night  at  Grieben's.  Pity  you 
were  not  there;  famous,  I  tell  you;  had  almost  as  much 
fun  as  at  the  last  hunt.  My  wife  was  tired ;  had  no 
encouragement.  People  are  always  tired  wlien  no  en- 
couragement.    Ha,  ha,  ha !  " 

"You  must  pardon  Karl's  way  of  talking,"  said  Hor- 
tense, taking  a  seat  by  the  baroness  on  the  sofa ;  "  he  has 
lived  the  last  six  weeks  almost  exclusively  with  grooms 
and  huntsmen." 

"  And  with  you,  my  darling!  ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  245 

gallant  husband.  "  Well,  Hortense  needn't  take  it  amiss. 
Husbands,  wife,  can  afford  a  joke,  eh?  " 

"  How  do  things  look  at  home  ?  "  asked  Anna  Maria, 
trying  to  give  a  more  interesting  turn  to  the  conversation. 

"Oh,  so  so!"  said  Baron  Barnewitz.  "The  winter 
wheat  is  generally  doing  very  Avell ;  here  and  there  the 
mice  have  done  some  harm.  The  summer  was  too  hot.  I 
think  the  rain  will  do  us  some  good  now.  Apropos  of  rain, 
Grenwitz !  we  must  settle  that  question  about  the 
ditches,  else  we  shall  all  of  us  be  drowned  one  of  these 
days.  I  have  talked  about  it  to  Oldenburg,  a  few  days 
ago.  He  belongs  to  our  district,  with  his  estate  at 
Cona.  He  thought,  too,  the  thing  would  have  to  be 
done  this  fall." 

"  Why,  does  the  baron  nowadays  take  an  interest  in 
farming?  That  is  something  entirely  new,"  said  Anna 
Maria. 

"  Entirely  new,  madame,"  affirmed  Baron  Barnewitz  ; 
"the  very  last  news,  ha,  ha,  ha!  since  his  return  from 
his  travels  ;  that  is  to  say,  about  a  fortnight.  I  think  he 
will  be  crazy  next." 

"  Or  marry  your  cousin  Melitta,"  said  the  baroness, 
smiling. 

"  Perhaps  that  would  be  the  same  thing,"  suggested 
Hortense. 

"  But,  dear  Hortense,  you  ought  not  to  be  so  satiri- 
cal," said  the  baroness,  threatening  the  satirical  blonde 
with  her  uplifted  finger  jestingly. 

"  Are  jealous  ;  you  are  jealous  !  "  cried  Baron  Barne- 
witz. "  You  have  always  envied  her  her  beaux,  because 
she  has  one  for  every  finger." 

"  It  is  a  great  art  to  be  attended  by  gentlemen,  if  one 
leaves  no  means  of  coquetry  unused,"  said  Hortense, 
dropping  hdr  cloak  far  enough  to  show  her  white  shoul- 
ders. 

"  Well,  it  is  not  quite  as  bad  as  that,"  replied  her  hus- 
band. 

Hortense  shrugged  her  white  shoulders. 

"Bad  is  a  relative  idea.  Melitta  has  given  so  much 
ground  for  gossip  in  her  life  that  people  are  not  so  very 
strict  with  her." 


246  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"But  that  might  be  the  case  with  Baron  Oldenburg 
too,"  said  Anna  Maria. 

"Possibly,"  said  Hortense.  "I  do  not  know  Baron 
Oldenburg  well  enough " 

The  fox-hunter  saw  himself  compelled  to  pull  out  his 
handkerchief,  and  to  blow  his  nose  furiously. 

"  Not  well  enough,"  repeated  Hortense,  who  proba- 
bly discovered  some  connection  between  her  words  and 
the  violent  blowing  of  her  husband's  nose ;  "  but,  if  he 
can  get  over  Melitta's  last  affair,  he  must,  indeed,  be  very 
tolerant." 

"Last  affair!"  said  moral  Anna  Maria,  raising  her 
eyebrows;  "why,  I  had  not  heard  of  anything  !  " 

"  Gossip,  madame,  gossip  !  "  said  Barnew»itz,  who  re- 
membered that  Melitta  was  his  first  cousin,  and  that  he 
had,  as  a  boy  of  seventeen,  worshipped  the  beautiful 
girl  of  twelve.  "  Nothing  but  the  gossip  of  a  set  of  old 
women." 

"  Old  women  often  have  very  useful,  sharp  eyes,"  re- 
marked Hortense,  examining  attentively  the  stucco  or- 
naments of  the  ceiling. 

"  You  make  me  very  curious,"  said  Anna  Maria,  sit- 
ting down  comfortably  in  tho  sofa-corner. 

"  It  is  nonsense,  madame,  I  assure  you,"  said  Barne- 
witz,  angrily.  "  A  couple  of  old  women  from  our  vil- 
lage, who  were  stealing  wood  at  night  in  the  Berkow 
forest — at  least  I  cannot  see  how  else  they  could  have 
been  there — say  that  Melitta  has  had  secret  interviews 
in  her  little  forest  cottage  with — Heaven  knows  whom  !  " 

"  Why,  that  is  quite  a  piquant  story,"  said  Anna 
Maria. 

"  Yes  ;  and  what  makes  it  still  more  piquant,"  said 
Hortense,  her  eyes  still  busy  at  the  ceiling,  "  is  this:  that 
the  Heaven  knows  who  always  came  by  the  road  from 
Grenwitz,  and  always  went  back  again  the  same  way!" 

Anna  Maria's  eyes  opened  as  wide  as  they  possibly 
could  when  she  heard  this  statement. 

"  When  is  that  reported  to  have  taken  place  1  "  she 
asked,  with  severity.     "  I  will  not  hope " 

"  Oh,  do  not  trouble  yourself  about  it,"  interrupted 
Hortense  ;  "  Felix  came  much  later.     It  was  aDout  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  247 

time  when  we  gave  our  first  ball,  and  Oldenburg,  who 
was  assigning  the  guests  their  seats  at  table  with  Karl, 
made  my  cousin  go  to  table  with  Doctor  Stein,  and 
carried  him  afterwards  home  in  his  own  carriage.  It 
was  a  touching  attention,  though  not  without  its  comical 
side  in  this  case ;  as  well  as  the  warmth  with  which 
Oldenburg  afterwards  took  Mr.  Stein's  part  when  your 
nephew,  Felix,  had  that  unpleasant  affair  with  him. 
Oh,  it  is  too  amusing  !  But  nobody  can  accuse  my 
cousin  that  she  does  not  know  how  to  make  friends 
of  her  friends." 

The  old  baron  had  listened  to  this  interesting  conver- 
sation in  perfect  silence,  and  apparently  with  utter  in- 
difference. All  the  more  surprising  was  the  vehemence 
Avith  which  he  now  said,  shaking  his  gray  head  indig- 
nantly, 

"  Frau  von  Berkow  is  a  dear  lady,  whom  I  esteem  ; 
Baron  Oldenburg  is  a  man  of  honor ;  I  have  always 
known  him  as  such,  and  have  had  quite  recently  occa- 
sion to  see  it  again  in  some  very  important  business  I 
had  with  him.  I  am  sorry,  my  friends,  to  hear  you 
speak  of  them  in  this  hard  and  unfeeling  manner — very 
sorry!   very  sorry!" 

And  the  old  man  trembled  so  violently  with  deep 
emotion  that  he  could  hardly  carry  the  pinch  he  held 
between  his  fingers  to  his  nose. 

Baron  Barnewitz  nodded  his  head,  as  if  he  wished  to 
say  :  The  old  gentleman  is  not  so  far  out.  But  Hortense 
was  not  in  the  humor  to  accept  the  correction  patiently. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  that,  my  dear  baron," 
she  replied  scornfully;  "you  know  that  the  name  of 
this  Mr.  Stein  has  elsewhere  also  obtained  quite  a  ce- 
lebrity in  the  annals  of  the  past  summer.  The  more 
frequently  it  is,  therefore,  coupled  with  my  cousin,  why, 
all  the  more  rarely  can  it  be  put  in  connection  with  the 
names  of  other  ladies." 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  old  gentleman  that  he  did 
not  understand  this  allusion  to  Ilclen,  since  it  had  never 
occurred  to  him  in  the  most  remote  way  that  his 
daughter  could  have  been  the  cause  of  the  duel  between 
Felix  and  Oswald. 


248  Through  Night  to  Light. 

In  the  meantime  Hortense  seemed  to  feel  that  she  had 
probably  gone  too  far.  She  hastened,  therefore,  to  say 
that  it  was  quite  late  already,  and  she  was  just  about  to 
rise  in  order  to  take  leave  when  more  visitors  were  an- 
nounced, which  compelled  her  to  stay.  No  one  was  to 
say  of  Hortense  Barnewitz  that  she  had  fled  before  a 
rival.  But  such  a  rival  w^as,  in  more  than  one  respect, 
Emily  Cloten,  who  now  rushed  in  ahead  of  her  hus- 
band. 

Emily  had  been  married  a  fortnight.  She  had  pre- 
ferred not  to  make  any  other  wedding  tour  than  from 
the  estate  of  her  parents,  where  the  wedding  had  taken 
place,  to  Grunwald.  She  did  not  wish  to  miss  the  be- 
ginning of  the  season.  She  longed  to  appear  at  once 
on  the  stage  of  her  future  triumphs,  in  order  to  prevent 
any  possible  competition.  Emily  Breesen  did  not  want 
to  have  become  F"rau  von  Cloten  for  nothing — the  wife 
of  a  man  to  whom  she  had  engaged  herself  in  a  fit  of 
jealousy — whom  she  had  married  from  pure  caprice. 

The  success  which  she  had  obtained  at  the  first  balls 
of  the  season  fulfilled  her  boldest  expectations.  She 
saw  all  the  men  at  her  feet,  and  the  consciousness  of 
the  power  of  her  charms  furnished  an  excellent  relief 
for  her  coquettish  beauties.  The  certainty  of  victory 
beamed  from  her  large,  almond-shaped  gray  eyes;  the 
certainty  of  victory  played  around  lier  rather  large  but 
well-shaped  mouth,  with  its  dazzling  white  teeth;  the 
certainty  of  victory  peeped  stealthily  from  the  dimples 
in  her  rosy  cheeks;  the  certainty  of  victory  even  pro- 
claimed itself  in  the  rustling  of  her  long  silk  dresses 
and  the  nodding  of  the  white  ostrich-feather  on  her 
black-velvet  hat,  from  under  which  the  luxuriant  brown 
hair  overflowed  in  all  directions. 

Baron  Cloten,  on  his  side,  seemed  to  have  found  out 
that  the  sublime  good  fortune  of  being  the  husband  of 
so  brilliant  a  lady  was  somewhat  equivocal.  There  was 
around  his  eyes  a  faint  expression  like  that  of  a  turkey-hen 
who  has  for  weeks  been  dreaming  and  boasting  of  the 
hoped-for  happiness  to  promenade  in  the  poultry -yard  at 
the  head  of  a  number  of  young,  respectable  turkeys,  and 
who  suddenly  sees  her  brood  swim  on  the  pond  in  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  249 

shape  of  wild,  disrespectful  ducklings.  Those  who  had 
known  him  before  could  not  help  noticing  that  he 
twisted  his  blond  moustache  less  frequently,  and  that 
his  voice  sounded  by  no  means  as  self-complacent  as 
formerly.  Perhaps  he  was  all  the  more  disconcerted  as 
he  had  unexpectedly  and  without  any  desire  of  his  own 
met  his  lady-love,  whom  he  had  faithlessly  and  somewhat 
cowardly  abandoned  ;  while  on  the  other  hand,  this  very 
circumstance  seemed  visibly  to  increase  the  good  humor 
of  his  young  wife.  She  had  the  pleasing  consciousness 
of  having  totally  eclipsed  Hortense  last  night,  and  she 
now  enjoyed  the  sight  of  her  rival  most  heartily.  Of 
course  she  greeted  her  with  all  the  signs  of  most  cordial 
friendship,  and  asked  her  with  deep  sympathy  whether 
the  night's  rest  had  relieved  her  of  her  headache  of  last 
night. 

"  What  a  pity,  dear  Barnewitz,  that  your  migraine 
compelled  you  to  leave  before  the  cotillon.  I  assure 
you,  it  was  the  most  lovely  cotillon  I  have  ever  danced. 
Prince  Waldenberg — you  know  I  led  the  cotillon  with 
Prince  \yaldenberg ;  Max  Grieben  had  begged  us  to  do 
so — knew  a  number  of  the  newest  figures,  as  they  dance 
them  at  the  court  balls  in  Berlin.  I  tell  you  such  a 
cotillon  was  never  danced  yet  in  Grunwald.  Was  it 
not  charming,  Arthur.'" 

"  Oh  certainly,  certainly  .'  "  rattled  the  obedient  hus- 
band, who  had  been  condemned  to  dance  with  a  poor, 
hunchbacked  countess ;  "  I  assure  you,  it  was  divine ; 
upon  my  word,  divine  !" 

"  I  thought  the  company,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  rather 
mixed,"  said  Hortense,  who  looked  a  few  degrees  more 
blas'ee  since  Emily  had  come ;  "  I  counted  hot  less  than 
four — say  four — artillery  officers  who  were  not  noble." 

"Why,  that  is  very  likely,"  said  Emily,  "although  I 
had  no  time  to  count  them.  I  have  even  danced  with 
one  of  them — Jones,  or  Smith,  or  whatever  his  name  was 
— and,  by  tlie  way,  he  waltzed  as  magnificently  as  I 
could  wish." 

"  But,  dear  Emily,  might  you  not  have  escaped  that.-'  " 
said  Hortense,  drawing  up  her  cloak. 

"  Precisely  the  same  question  which  Prince  Walden- 
II* 


250  Through  Night  to  Light. 

berg  asked.  '  Your  Highness,'  I  replied, '  I  am  no  enthusi- 
ast about  the  artillery ;  but,  after  all,  I  Avould  rather  dance 
with  a  man  who  is  not  noble  than  not  to  dance  at  all.'  " 

This  allusion  to  a  misfortune  which  had  twice  oc- 
cured  to  Hortense  last  night,  put  the  poor  lady  in  such 
an  excited  state  that  the  rouge  on  her  cheeks  became 
quite  useless.  She  was  just  about  to  commit  the  folly 
of  betraying  by  a  violent  answer  how  deep  the  venomous 
arrow  shot  by  Emily  had  wounded  her,  when  the  servant 
announced  "  Professor  and  Mrs.  Jager." 

The  man  was  so  well  trained  that  he  did  not,  as 
usually,  admit  the  persons  he  announced  at  once  into 
the  parlor,  but  closed  the  door  behind  him  and  remained 
standing  there  bolt  upright,  waiting  for  further  orders. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  my  friends,"  said  Anna  Maria, 
apologizing,  and  turning  to  the  company  present,  "  if  I 
receive  the  professor  and  his  wife.  The  good  people 
have  always  shown  themselves  loyal,  and  quite  aware  of 
their  social  position.  I  think  it  is  our  duty  to  encour- 
age such  people." 

Upon  a  sign  of  his  mistress  the  servant  went  out,  and 
there  appeared  the  man  of  the  Fragment  and  the  poetess, 
making  deep  bows  and  courtesies,  which  were  returned 
with  a  gentle  nod  by  the  noble  company.  Only  the  old 
baron  rose,  shook  hands  with  them,  and  bade  them  wel- 
come in  his  cordial,  unvarnished  manner. 

If  Primula,  who  looked  somewhat  shyly  from  under 
the  cornflowers  on  her  bonnet,  seemed  to  stand  rather 
in  need  of  some  such  encouragement,  the  editor  of  Chry- 
sophilos  evidently  could  very  well  do  without  it.  Hu- 
mility, it  is  true,  spoke  from  his  small  eyes,  Avhich 
squinted  suspiciously  above  the  golden  rim  of  his  spec- 
tacles as  he  approached  with  bent  back ;  modesty,  it  is 
true,  smiled  from  the  unpleasant  lines  which  marked 
the  large  mouth  with  its  low-drawn  corners ;  but  they 
were  the  humility  and  the  modesty  of  a  cat  rubbing 
her  back  against  the  foot  of  the  ladder  which  leads  to 
the  garret  where  the  fat  pigeons  are  cooing.  He  went 
up  to  the  baroness,  kissed  repeatedly  her  graciously- 
extended  hand,  bowed  low  to  the  other  two  ladies,  not 
quite  so  low  to  the  gentlemen,  seated  himself  after  some 


Through  Night  to  Light.  251 

hesitation  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  which  stood  rather 
outside  of  the  circle,  and  waited,  his  head  slightly  on 
one  side,  till  somebody  should  feel  disposed  to  honor 
him  witli  a  question. 

The  conversation  of  the  company  turned  on  a  most  in- 
teresting subject,  the  person  of  his  Highness,  First  Lieu- 
tenant Prince  Waldenberg,  who  had  been  ordered  a  few 
weeks  ago  from  his  regiment  of  the  Guards  at  the  Cap- 
ital to  the  line  regiment  Avhich  was  in  garrison  at 
Grunwald,  and  who  had  of  course,  from  his  first  appear- 
ance, become  the  lion  of>  the  whole  country  nobility 
now  residing  in  town. 

"  Only  I  should  like  to  know  why  he  has  been  ordered 
here,"  said  Cloten.  "  Felix,  with  whom  I  talked  it  over 
yesterday — apropos^  it  is  very  well,  madame,  you  make 
him  keep  his  room  ;  he  looks  really  very  badly — Felix 
thinks  the  prince  has  probably  had  another  duel ;  they 
sav  he  is  the  most  passionate  man  in  the  world." 

"  Why,  Arthur  !  "  said  Emily.  "  You  talk  as  if  passion 
were  a  crime.  I  wish  some  people  I  know  had  a  little 
more  of  it." 

"  Are  not  the  Waldenbergs  of  Slavonic  descent }  " 
asked  Hortense.  "  It  seems  to  me  the  prince  looks  like 
a  Mongolian." 

"  Oh  !  you  have  not  seen  him  near,  my  dearest  Barne- 
witz,"  said  Emily  ;  "  he  is  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I 
have  ever  seen,  and  he  dances  divinely." 

"  I  believe  the  Waldenbergs  are  originally  a  Polish 
family,"  said  Anna  Maria. 

"  Not  at  all,  madame,"  cried  Cloten ;  "  pure  Germanic, 
upon  honor,  pure  Germanic." 

"  I  am  sure  Professor  Jager  can  tell  us  something 
more  about  that,"  said  the  baroness,  turning  with  a  gra- 
cious smile  towards  the  man  of  science. 

"  Indeed,  my  gracious  lady,"  said  the  latter,  glad  to 
have  found  an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  his  knowl- 
edge ;  "  indeed,  I  have  always  taken  special  pleasure, 
while  pursuing  my  historical  studies,  to  trace  out  the 
genealogies  of  noble  families,  and  thus  it  happens  that 
I  have  given  special  attention  to  the  history  of  the  Wal- 
denberg family,  which  is  in  many  respects  a  most  inter- 


252  Through  Night  to  Light. 

esting  one.  The  Waldenbergs  were,  if  you  will  excuse 
me  for  correcting  your  remarks,  of  purely  German  de- 
scent. They  came  originally  from  Franconia,  and  only 
went  to  Prussia  with  the  German  knights.  Afterwards, 
it  is  true,  they  have  largely  intermarried  with  noble  Po- 
lish families,  and  hence  they  own  still  large  estates  in  the 
Lausitz,  where  the  family  estate  lies,  and  in  Russian  Po- 
land. The  present  prince,  also,  has  both  Slavonic  and 
Germanic  blood  in  his  veins.  His  mother,  the  Princess 
Stephanie  Letbus,  of  the  house  of  Wartenberg,  mar- 
ried in  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-two,  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, where  she  has  lived  from  her  early  youth — I  men- 
tioned before  that  part  of  their  possessions  are  in  Rus- 
sia—  a  Count  Constantin  Malikowsky,  the  last  scion 
of  a  once  very  rich  and  powerful  Polish  family,  who 
is  now,  however,  quite  reduced.  The  Emperor  Alexan- 
der, who,  as  they  say,  was  under  obligations  to  both  fami- 
lies "  (here  the  professor  ventured  upon  a  stealthy  smile 
to  the  young  princess,  who  was  lady  in  waiting  to  the  em- 
press and  exceedingly  beautiful,  and  to  the  count  whose 
family  had  been  mainly  ruined  by  Russian  confiscations), 
*'  has  the  credit  of  having  made  the  match.  Such  influ- 
ence was  perhaps  necessary,  because  the  reputation  of 
the  count  was — I  trust  you  will  pardon  the  veracity  of 
a  conscientious  historian — was,  how  shall  I  call  it,  some- 
what doubtful.  Young  noblemen  must  sow  their  wild 
oats,  we  all  know  that;  but  Count  Malikowsky  had  prob- 
ably carried  the  matter  a  little  too  far.  However  that 
may  be,  the  offspring  of  this  marriage  of  Count  Con- 
stantin Malikowsky  with  the  Princess  Stephanie  Letbus 
is  the  prince,  who  at  first  was  in  the  Russian  service  ;  but 
when  with  the  last  Prince  Waldenberg  the  male  succes- 
sion in  the  family  came  to  an  end,  and  the  estates  lapsed 
back  to  the  crown,  the  King  of  Prussia  as  a  special  favor 
declared  him  qualified  to  succeed,  and  he  entered  our 
service  as  Prince  Count  Malikowsky  Waldenberg.  His 
lull  name  is,  as  you  may  possibly  not  know  yet,  Ria- 
mund  Grcgorius  Stephan,  Prince  Count  Malikowsky 
Waldenberg,  hereditary  lord  of  Letbus." 

The  company  had  followed  the  genealogical  lecture 
of  the  learned  professor  with  the  same  attention  with 


Through  Night  to  Light.  253 

which  a  company  of  ordinary  crows  miglit  listen  to  the 
report  of  an  owl  about  the  descent  of  a  rare  raven  who 
measures  four  yards  from  tip  to  tip.  The  devout  silence 
was  suddenlv  interrupted  by  the  voice  of  the  servant, 
who  opened  the  door  with  nervous  haste  and  called  out, 
"  His  Highness,  Prince  Waldenberg!  " 

The  nervous  servant  seemed  to  have  clectrilied  the 
whole  company  in  the  room.  A  moment  later  and  they 
all  stood  straight  up  before  their  chairs,  anxiously  look- 
ing at  the  door,  through  whose  wide-open  frame  the 
prince  was  entering  so  quickly  that  Anna  Maria  was 
not  able  to  make  the  three  steps  to  meet  him  Avhich  eti- 
quette required,  but  had  only  time  for  one  and  a  half 

"  You  have  had  the  kindness,  madame,"  said  the 
prince  in  excellent  French,  slightly  bending  over  the 
hand  of  the  baroness,  "  to  anticipate  my  wishes  by  your 
invitation,  before  I  had  an  opportunity  to  make  myself 
worthy  of  such  an  attention.  Permit  me  to  try  to  make 
amends  for  my  neglect." 

"  An  effort,  mon  prince,''  answered  Anna  Maria,  with 
her  sweetest  smile,  also  in  French,  "  which  in  a  gentle- 
man like  yourself  is  sure  of  success.  I  regret  exceed- 
ingly that,  rarely  as  we  are  from  home,  an  unfortunate 
accident  should  have  caused  us  the  other  day  to  be  ab- 
sent just  when  you  thought  of  honoring  us  with  a  visit. 
Permit  me  to  present  you  to  my  friends :  the  baron,  my 
husband  ;  Baron  and  Baroness  Barnewitz  ;  Baron  and 
Baroness  Cloten." 

"  I  have  already  the  honor,"  said  the  prince,  smiling. 

"Professor  Jager,  an  excellent  scholar,  and  a  friend 
of  our  house;  Mrs.  Jager,  a  lady  whose  poetical  talent 
deserves  encouragement." 

The  prince  bowed  to  each  one  of  the  persons  presented 
— even  to  the  last-mentioned,  which  made  quite  a  sensa- 
tion— with  the  same  dignity  and  courtesy,  and  gave  the 
signal  to  sit  down  by  choosing  himself  a  seat  by  Anna 
Maria  on  an  easy-chair. 

During  this  long  salutation  those  who  had  not  known 
the  prince  before  had  an  opportunity  to  study  his  out- 
ward appearance.  His  was  a  Herculean  form,  calculated 
to  impress  a  professional  boxer  forcibly,  and  to  create 


^54  Through  Night  to  Light. 

a  sensation  in  a  circus,  dressed  up  as  an  athlete  ;  but  for 
ordinary  life  was,  perhaps,  a  little  too  large.  Upon 
the  large,  powerful  body,  whose  height  was  in  full  har- 
mony with  the  breadth  of  the  shoulders  and  the  mag- 
nificent chest,  there  was  set  a  head  more  angular  than 
round,  covered  all  over  with  short,  curling  black  hair, 
and  firmly  resting  upon  a  heck  which  looked  too  short 
for  the  size  of  the  head.  The  features  of  the  face  corre- 
sponded with  the  whole.  The  brow  was  low  and  straight, 
the  eyes  of  bright  darkness  but  small,  and  apparently 
still  further  reduced  in  size  by  the  heavy  eyelids  with 
their  dark  lashes.  The  nose  as  well  as  the  thick  lips 
were  somewhat  protruding.  A  beard,  thicker  and 
blacker  than  the  hair  on  the  head,  covered  the  cheeks 
and  the  upper  lip.  The  chin  alone,  shaved  smooth,  in 
military  style,  was  the  energetic  base  of  this  energetic 
face.  Taken  all  in  all,  the  assertion  made  by  Hortense 
that  the  prince  looked  like  a  Mongolian  agreed  as  little 
with  the  reality  as  Emily's  judgment  that  he  was  strik- 
ingly handsome.  Nevertheless,  the  whole  was  a  far  too 
striking  individuality  and  too  full  of  character  to  be 
called  plain,  even  if  the  strict  rules  of  ideal  beauty  were 
not  all  observed.  A  physiognomist  would  in  vain  have 
looked  for  ideal  qualities  of  any  kind  in  the  face  of  the 
prince,  but  he  would  have  discovered,  in  return,  a  most 
energetic,  powerful  will;  and,  perhaps,  if  he  had  exam- 
ined carefully,  a  boundless  pride,  which  slept  with  open 
eyes  behind  the  mask,  like  a  lion  behind  the  bars  of  his 
cage,  and  could  be  roused  by  a  mere  nothing. 

The  prince  wore  the  simple  uniform  of  the  regiment 
in  garrison  in  Grunwald,  but  the  two  decorations  on  his 
breast — a  small  cross  set  in  diamonds, probably  Russian; 
and  the  order  of  the  Blue  Falcon  of  the  second  class, 
with  crossed  swords — proved  abundantly  that  he  was  a 
man  whose  importance  was  great,  aside  from  epaulet 
and  sword-knot. 

Anna  Maria  treated  her  great  guest  with  a  distinction 
corresponding  fully  with  this  higher  mystical  impor- 
tance, which  was  only  revealed  to  the  profane  eye  by 
the  awe-inspiring  sparkling  of  the  diamonds.  It  was 
this  that  caused  the  modest  silence  into  which  Barnewitz 


Through  Night  to  Light.  255 

and  Cloten  had  fallen  since  his  arrival ;  the  coquetry 
with  which  Hortense  and  Clotilde  tried  to  attract  his 
attention,  and  the  embarrassment  of  the  author  of  the 
fragments  and  the  poetess,  who  had  a  vague  impression 
that  they  were  more  than  superfluous  in  this  most  noble 
company,  and  yet  did  not  dare  to  rise  from  their  seats 
and  to  go  away.  The  prince  and  the  baroness  at  first 
kept  up  the  conversation  alone,  until  Hortense  suc- 
ceeded in  wedging  in  a  casual  remark,  and  thus  to  ob- 
tain the  word  to  the  great  annoyance  of  Emily,  who 
had  to  leave  her  adversary  in  the  undisturbed  enjoy- 
ment of  this  triumph,  as  she  spoke  French  but  imper- 
fectly, and  was  hardly  able  to  follow  the  rapid  utter- 
ance of  her  rival.  Hortense,  who  knew  Emily's  weak 
point,  carried  her  malice  so  far  as  to  turn  round  to  her 
continually  with  a  "  qiten  ditcs — voiis^  chtre  ainih  ?  N'esi 
cc pns,  Emilie7  "  and  to  force  her  in  this  way  to  reply  in 
a  manner  which  might  be  clever  in  spirit  but  was  very 
imperfect  in  form.  Any  one  who  could  have  noticed 
the  intense  delight  with  which  Hortense  enjoyed  her 
triumph  over  her  adversary  would  have  been  compelled 
to  acknowledge  that  even  malice  has  its  moments  of 
happiness.  The  delight,  however,  became  almost  too 
great  to  be  borne,  when  at  last  the  prince  hardly  noticed 
Emily  any  longer,  and  gave  himself  up  entirely  to  the 
charm  of  Hortense's  amusing  conversation. 

Emily,  however,  was  far  too  frivolous  and  too  bold  to 
lose  her  good  humor  at  once,  because  of  such  a  momen- 
tary defeat.  The  prince  was  not  to  her  taste,  although 
she  had  before  praised  him  in  order  to  annoy  her  rival ; 
and  if  he  did  not  choose  to  speak  German  to  her,  as  he 
had  done  the  night  before,  he  might  leave  it  alone. 
Emily  played  with  her  beaux  as  a  trifling  child  plays 
with  its  dolls  ;  it  was  utterly  indifi"erent  to  her  whether 
she  broke  the  head  of  one,  or  the  other  fell  into  the 
water ;  she  felt  it  only  when  one  of  her  favorite  dolls — 
and  she  had  occasionally,  for  the  sake  of  variety,  one 
that  she  overwhelmed  with  caresses  and  kisses — was 
not  willing  to  be  tender  to  her  and  to  return  her  affec- 
tion. Oswald  had  been  such  a  favorite,  but  cold,  des- 
perately cold  doll  for  her.     She  might  have  married 


256  Through  Night  to  Light. 

him  and  become  his  faithful  Avife  '\^  he  had  belonged  to 
the  same  circles  in  which  she  lived — at  least  her  fancy 
represented  it  to  her  as  possible  in  dreamy  hours — but 
now  she  was  Baroness  Cloten,  and  then — what  did  it 
matter  to  her?  Was  she  not  handsome  and  young,  and 
ten  times  cleverer  than  her  foolish  husband  with  his 
everlasting  "  upon  honor  !  "  and  "  divine  !  "  Why  will 
foolish  men  marry  clever  and  handsome  young  wives, 
especially  when  these  wives  have  a  fondness  for  fancies 
brighter  than  the  dull  gray  of  actual  life  ?  Are  the  wives 
to  be  blamed  in  such  cases  if  they  go  their  own  way, 
which  is  sometimes  so  narrow  and  dark  that  virtue  and 
honor,  the  faithful  companions  of  good  wives,  are  lost 
by  the  way  ? 

Emily  Cloten  had  been  watching  the  whole  time  for 
an  opportunity  to  enter  into  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Jager,  who,  she  suspected,  might  be  able  to  give  her 
some  news  about  Oswald,  whom  she  had  not  seen  again 
since  the  night  before.  She  availed  herself,  therefore, 
of  the  favorable  moment  when  the  prince  was  speaking 
to  the  baroness  and  Hortense,  and  the  baron  to  the 
reverend  gentleman,  in  order  to  inquire  of  Primula 
about  "  that  young  man  Avho  was  tutor  at  Grenwitz 
last  summer — Fels,  I  think,  or  Rock,  or  Stein,  or  what- 
ever his  name  was — since  a  friend  of  hers  was  in  need  of 
a  teacher."  Emily  was  not  mistaken;  Primula  could 
give  her  all  information  about  Mr.  Stein — "not  Fels,  al- 
though he  has  a  heart  like  the  poet's  hero,  Felsenfest ; 
not  Rock,  although  he  towers  like  a  rock  above  all 
men  " — as  the  enthusiastic  poetess  added  warmly.  He 
called  nearly  every  day,  she  said  (Oswald  had  been  there 
once) ;  he  was  like  a  member  of  the  family,  and  as  truly 
united  with  her  in  warm  friendship  as  in  their  common 
aspirations.  "Excelsior!"  She  did  not  think,  how- 
ever, Oswald  would  just  now  accept  such  a  position,  as 
he  was  "  suffering  in  the  dull  bonds  of  a  school,"  but 
she  would  mention  to  him  the  offer. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  say  anything,"  said 
Emily,  after  a  short  meditation.  "You  know  Mr.  Stein 
— how  could  I  forget  the  name — did  not  leave  our  cir- 
cle in  perfect  harmony.     He  might  reject  the  offer  at 


Through  Night  to  Light.  257 

once,  if  it  came  to  him  in  that  way.  Could  you  not — 
how  shall  we  manage  it? — yes!  that's  the  way!  Could 
you  not  arrange  it  so,  my  dear  Mrs.  Jager,  that  I  should 
meet  him  at  your  house  as  if  by  mere  chance?  I  have 
long  since  desired  to  see  the  table  on  which  the  author 
of  the  '  Cornflowers  '  composes  her  beautiful  poems." 

"  You  overwhelm  me  with  your  kindness,"  cried  Pri- 
mula !  "  I  can  only  say  with  Zeus  at  the  distribution 
of  the  gifts  of  the  earth  :  if  you  really  wish  to  enter  my 
lowly  hut,  as  often  as  you  come  it  shall  be  open  to  you. 
Shall  we  say  day  after  to-morrow,  at  seven?  " 

"  That  will  suit  me  exactly,"  said  Emily. 

Emily  had  given  herself  so  completely  to  this  inter- 
esting conversation  that  her  husband  had  to  remind  her 
of  the  intended  breaking  up  of  the  company.  The 
prince  had  risen;  the  others  had  followed  his  example. 

'■'Madame,''  said  the  prince,  '^  jai  T honncur  " — the  word 
died  on  his  lips,  for  he  saw  in  the  large  mirror  before 
him  the  form  of  a  marvellously  beautiful  girl  who  had 
suddenly  entered  the  room  without  being  announced 
by  the  servant.  He  turned  round  almost  frightened,  and 
stepped  aside,  with  a  low  bow,  to  make  room  for  the 
young  lady,  who  vrent  up  to  the  baroness.  The  young 
lady  was  Helen  Grenwitz. 

Her  appearance  here  was  unexpected  by  all  except 
the  baron  and  the  baroness,  and  surprised  and  inter- 
ested each  one  in  his  own  way.  The  prince,  who  saw 
her  now  for  the  first  time,  was  the  only  one  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  difficulties  in  the  family ;  the  others  had 
discussed  the  Grenwitz  catastrophe  for  weeks  with 
great  zeal  and  vast  ingenuity  in  all  directions,  and  as 
Helen  had  thus  been  the  common  topic  of  conversation, 
this  first  meeting  of  mother  and  daughter  was  therefore 
to  them  all  a  most  attractive  scene.  But  if  they  had  ex- 
pected anything  extraordinary  they  were  doomed  to 
disappointment.  The  baron,  to  be  sure,  showed  some 
emotion  as  he  rose  to  meet  Helen  and  to  kiss  her  brow, 
but  mother  and  daughter  met  with  courteous  coldness, 
which  furnislicd  little  food  for  the  curiosity  and  thirst 
for  scandal  of  the  assembly,  ready  as  they  were  to  notice 
every  gesture,  and  to  treasure  up  every  word. 


258  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Ah,  good-day,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  baroness,  in 
French,  kissing  Helen  likewise  on  her  forehead,  but  very 
lightly.  "  You  come  just  in  time.  Permit  me,  mon prince^ 
to  present  my  daughter,  Helen — His  Highness,  Prince 
Waldenberg,  my  child,  the  most  recent  as  well  as  the 
most  brilliant  acquisition  for  our  society." 

Helen  returned  the  low  bow  of  the  prince,  apparently 
not  dazzled  by  his  high  rank  and  his  imposing  appear- 
ance, and  then  turned  to  Emily  Cloten,  who  welcomed 
her  most  heartily.  Emily's  sharp  eyes  had  not  failed  to 
observe  the  impression  which  Helen's  startling  beauty 
had  produced  on  the  prince.  Let  the  prince  admire 
whom  he  pleased,  so  Hortense  lost  her  triumph  ! 

"  Oh,  how  nice !  "  she  cried,  embracing  Helen,  "  that  you 
show  yourself  at  last.  I  was  coming  to  see  you  soon  ; 
we  have  to  tell  each  other  a  whole  world."  And  she 
seized  her  friend  by  both  hands  and  drew  her  aside  a 
few  steps,  so  as  to  be  able  to  say  to  her :  "  Look,  the 
prince  is  done,  totalcment  done!  He  does  not  take  his 
black  eyes  oif  you  for  an  instant !  If  you  want  him,  I'll 
let  you  have  him.  He  dances  beautifully,  but  he  is  not 
my  genre.  Encourage  him  a  little  ;  it  annoys  the  Barne- 
Avitz  fearfully  Just  think,  the  old  coquette  still  wants 
to  play  her  part,  although  she  has  now  to  paint  even  her 
veins  blue,  and  last  night  remained  twice  without  a 
partner  !  How  do  you  like  the  She  Bear  ?  Apropos, 
have  you  heard  anything  of  Oswald  Stein  ?  I  shall 
never  forget  that  evening  at  your  house  !  We  came  too 
late  with  our  warning,  but  he  pulled  through  beauti- 
fully. Even  Arthur  says  he  acted  like  a  perfect  gentle- 
man. Don't  turn  round,  the  prince  is  coming  this  way. 
He  no  doubt  wants  to  secure  the  first  waltz  for  to- 
morrow." 

Emily's  cunning  had  guessed  right.  The  prince  had 
really,  while  keeping  up  a  conversation  with  the  baron- 
ess, looked  incessantly  at  Helen,  and  had  been  so  absent 
in  his  answers  that  one  could  easily  see  his  thoughts 
were  elsewhere.  Suddenly  he  interrupted  a  brilliant 
sentence  of  Anna  Maria's  by  asking  whether  there  would 
be  dancing  to-morrow,  and  whether  he  might  be  al- 
lowed to  ask  Friiulein  von  Grenwitz   to    keep    him  a 


Through  Night  to  Light.  259 

dance?"  When  both  questions  had  been  answered  with 
a  gracious  "  J/<7/V  oia\  //lonscigncur !"  he  approached  the 
two  ladies  with  a  bow. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said  in  German,  "  if  I  interrupt 
the  ladies  in  an  interesting  conversation;  but  I  cannot 
leave  without  having  made  an  effort  to  secure  a  dance 
for  to-morrow.  May  I  hope,  madame }  May  I  have  the 
honor,  INIiss  Helen.'" 

The  madame  and  the  miss  had  the  goodness  to  grant 
the  prince's  request,  and  his  highness  left  with  a  haste 
w^hich  clearly  showed  that  nothing  had  kept  him  so 
long  but  the  accomplishment  of  this  important  task. 

The  departure  of  his  highness  was  a  signal  for  the 
other  company,  who  had  been  Avaiting  for  it  to  go  like- 
wise, to  the  great  satisfaction  of  coachmen  and  servants 
in  the  street  below,  who  began  to  be  as  impatient  as  the 
horses. 

The  carriages  had  rolled  away.  The  reception-rooms 
were  once  more  empty ;  only  the  baron  and  the  baroness 
remained,  for  the  two  Clotens  had  taken  Helen  in  their 
carriage;  the  interrupted  dialogue  might  have  been  re- 
sumed. But  it  was  not  done.  The  old  gentleman  felt 
too  tired,  and  Anna  Maria  began  to  look  in  an  entirely 
new  light  upon  the  question  whether  Helen  should  re- 
main at  the  boarding-school  or  not.'*  For  about  ten 
minutes  ago  the  thought  had  suddenly  entered  her  mind 
that  it  might,  after  all,  be  wiser  to  be  reconciled  to 
her  daughter,  who  had  at  least  as  much  prospect  as  any 
other  young  lady,  and  probably  more,  to  become  Prin- 
cess of  Waldenberg,  Malikowsky,  Countess  of  Letbus. 


CHAPTER    III. 

A  MAN  who  is  to  be  married  in  a  few  weeks  finds 
it  usually  very  hard,  even  in  ordinary  cases,  to 
do  equal  justice  to  his  professional  duties  and  to 
his  duties  as  a  betrothed.     But  in  the  case  of  Franz  this 


26o 


Through  Nisht  to  Li?ht. 


dilemma,  insuperable  to  many  persons,  was  Dcrhaps  the 
easiest  part  of  his  task,  although  he  had  an  abundance 
of  business  as  one  of  the  representatives  of  the  privy 
councillor  in  his  medical  practice  (another  part  had  been 
assumed  by  one  of  his  colleagues).  But  more  difficult 
by  far  than  these  duties  were  the  troubles  arising  from 
his  effort  to  arrange  the  extremely  complicated  money 
matters  of  his  future  father-in-law.  It  appeared  gradu- 
ally that  the  debts  of  the  privy  councillor  would  not 
be  so  overwhelming,  if  it  should  be  feasible  to  collect 
the  sums  which  Avere  due  him  on  all  sides.  But  this 
was  in  most  cases  highly  improbable.  The  debtors  of 
the  privy  councillor  generally  lived  in  garrets  and  cel- 
lars ;  they  were  the  lame  and  the  crippled,  the  infirm 
and  the  invalid,  often  widows  and  orphans,  as  often 
also  unworthy  people,  who  had  wretchedly  abused  the 
well-known  liberality  of  the  privy  councillor.  What 
enormous  and,  alas !  what  useless  eiforts  this  man  had 
made  to  fill  the  Danaids'  tub  of  the  poor !  with  what 
zeal  he  had  made  himself  poor  in  order  to  overcome  the 
poverty  around  him,  like  the  fabled  pelican,  who  feeds 
his  young  with  his  own  blood.  What  embarrassments 
he  had  wilfully  assumed,  in  order  to  relieve  others  from 
the  same  troubles  !  How  often  he  had  given  up  his 
own  sleep  that  his  neighbor  might  sleep  !  How  he  had 
borrowed  money  at  usurious  interest  in  order  to  pay 
the  debts  of  others.  How  he  had  entered  into  the  most 
hazardous  speculations,  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  but 
which  must  succeed  and  return  a  hundred  per  cent,  if 
you  believed  the  originators,  but  which  of  course  never 
did  succeed,  and  overwhelmed  the  good-natured  and  cred- 
ulous privy  councillor  with  new  indebtedness — only  to 
help  others  on  in  their  own  business! 

It  would  have  been  a  difficult  task  for  the  most  expe- 
rienced lawyer  to  find  his  way  through  this  vast  mass 
of  more  or  less  complicated  questions,  and  to  decide  in 
each  case  what  was  to  be  done  for  the  moment,  and 
what  for  the  future ;  how  much  more  for  Franz,  who 
had  no  experience  in  such  matters  of  business.  But 
love  lent  him  miraculous  power,  and  sharpened  his 
natural  delicacy  in  his  peculiar  relations  to  his  father- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  261 

in-law,  which  called  upon  him  continvially  to  encourage, 
to  appease,  and  to  persuade.  "  I  should  not  hesitate  a 
moment,"  he  would  say,  "to  jump  after  you  into  the 
water,  if  I  saw  you  were  in  danger  of  drowning,  and 
you  and  everybody  who  should  see  it  would  think  it 
perfectly  natural.  Now  you  are  in  a  danger  which  to 
many  people  appears  more  formidable  even  than  drown- 
ing— for  many  escape  it  only  by  rushing  into  eternity — 
and  I  risk  for  your  sake  not  my  life,  which  you  could  not 
give  me  back,  but  a  few  thousand  dollars,  which  you 
can  pay  me  back  at  any  time,  when,  as  it  seems  highly 
probable,  your  health  is  completely  restored,  and  which, 
even  if  the  worst  should  happen,  it  would  not  make  me 
unhappy  to  lose." 

In  this  way  Franz  tried  to  help  his  father-in-law 
through  many  a  sad  hour,  in  which  the  sense  of  his  dis- 
ease and  the  consciousness  of  his  position  weighed  too 
heavily  on  his  soul.  Franz  hoped  that  the  excellent 
constitution  of  the  man  would  do  the  rest.  The  privy 
councillor  had  indeed  hardly  gained  the  conviction  that 
— thanks  to  the  able  and  energetic  help  of  his  son-in-law 
— no  dishonor  could  be  attached  to  his  name,  even  if  he 
were  to  die  now,  than  he  laid  aside  all  thoughts  of  death 
and  determined  to  get  well  as  soon  as  he  could.  "  Not 
quite  well,"  he  said,  "for  that  I  can  never  be  again;  but 
half  well,  or  two-thirds  well — just  well  enough  to  be  able 
to  bring  the  hay,  which  is  now  lying  fresh  on  the 
meadow,  dry  into  the  barn.  I  feel  it,  there  are  a  few 
evening  hours  left  me  yet ;  I  mean  to  make  good  use  of 
therfi.  You  shall  not  spend  your  money  upon  me,  and 
into  the  bargain  sacrifice  your  future  prospects  for  my 
sake." 

Unfortunately  this  sacrifice  had  already  been  made. 

Just  at  this  time  it  happened  that  a  famous  professor 
of  the  imiversity  in  the  capital  had  seen  a  monograph 
on  typhus,  published  by  Franz  during  the  summer,  and 
had  then  been  reminded  that  Franz  had  formerly  been 
one  of  his  most  talented  pupils,  for  Franz  had  pur- 
sued his  studies  for  three  years  in  the  capital.  He  wrote 
to  Franz  congratulating  him  on  his  work,  "  which  gave 
excellent  evidence  of  his  sharp  acumen,  as  of  his  as- 


262  Through  Night  to  Light. 

tounding  erudition,  rare  in  so  young  a  man.  But," 
continued  the  letter,  "while  thanking  you  in  the  name 
of  science  for  your  book,  I  beg  leave  at  the  same  time 
to  make  you  a  proposition,  which  1  hope  you  will  con- 
sider promptly  and  seriously.  Next  Easter  the  place  of 
first  assistant  in  the  great  hospital  here  will  be  vacant. 
I  know  among  our  younger  men  of  eminence  none  to 
whom  I  would  entrust  this  place  as  readily  as  to  you." 
The  great  man  then  spoke  at  length  of  the  advanta- 
ges which  Franz  would  secure  by  accepting  this  posi- 
tion, and  concluded  with  the  words  :  "  You  see  this  is  a 
prospect  as  favorable  as  you  will  ever  have.  I  am,  as 
you  know,  a  very  cool  judge  of  men  and  things ;  and  as 
matters  stand  now  in  our  university,  you  cannot  fail,  if 
you  wish,  to  obtain  in  a  few  years  the  appointment  as 
fidl  professor.  I  am  convinced  that  my  friend  Roban, 
to  whom  I  beg  you  will  give  my  kindest  regards,  will 
look  at  the  matter  in  the  same  light.  Consult  him,  and 
let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  you  can." 

Franz  had  answered,  but  Avithout  having  consulted 
his  father-in-law.  He  had  declined  the  offer,  though  he 
was  fully  alive  to  the  advantages  it  held  out.  The  career 
which  w-as  opened  to  him  was  one  of  great  attractions 
to  a  man  of  science,  and  promised  in  the  end  to  satisfy 
even  the  most  insatiable  ambition  ;  yet  it  did  not  appear 
to  be  lucrative  for  some  years  to  come,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, to  require  at  least  a  small  independent  fortune, 
which  Franz  did  no  longer  possess.  He  had  placed 
himself  by  his  generosity  in  the  disagreeable  position  to 
have  to  move  into  a  new  house  before  it  is  finished  or 
dry — an  embarrassment  in  which  many  honest  men  find 
themselves  ;  or,  to  speak  more  clearly,  to  have  to  look 
to  money-earning  at  a  time  when  he  needed  money  to 
spend  on  his  full  preparation  for  his  profession.  And 
for  such  a  purpose  Grunwald  and  his  position  as  son- 
in-law  of  the  most  prominent  physician  of  the  place 
were  peculiarly  well  adapted.  Therefore — farewell  thou 
golden  toy  of  a  life  overflowing  with  mental  enjoyment 
and  high  aspirations ! 

"  Away,  thou   dream,  so  bright  and  golden, 
But  life  and  love  are  not  yet  lost." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  263 

Thus  Franz  consoled  himself  while  he  made  this 
great  sacrifice  of  his  ambition  and  his  hopes  for  the  sake 
of  those  he  loved,  and  his  only  great  care  was  now  to 
keep  this  sacrifice  a  secret  from  those  beloved  ones,  es- 
pecially from  his  betrothed. 

This  care  seemed  to  be  unnecessary.  Sophie  found 
an  explanation  for  the  clouds  which  darkened  Franz's 
brow  when  he  thought  himself  unobserved,  in  the  over- 
whelming burden  of  his  professional  duties ;  and  for  his 
frequent  and  long  interviews  with  her  father,  in  the  na- 
ture of  his  practice.  Since  the  condition  of  her  father 
no  longer  filled  her  with  apprehensions,  the  happy  cheer- 
fulness of  Sophie  had  fully  reappeared.  She  worked 
hard  at  her  trousseau,  and  complained  to  Franz  of  the 
confusion  which  the  care  for  so  many  and  so  varied  things 
produced  in  her  head.  How  much  would  a  knowledge 
of  the  transactions  that  took  place  between  Franz  and 
her  father  have  interfered  with  the  happiness  which  she 
enjoyed  in  these  days,  as  she  labored  to  build  her  little 
nest  like  a  merry  bird  full  of  song  and  playful  flutter- 
ings,  if  she  had  known  that  the  money  with  which 
she  paid  her  long  bills  so  cheerfully  had  come  from  the 
purse  of  her  betrothed.'  She  had  easily  consoled  her- 
self as  to  the  grief  arising  from  her  inability  to  get  ready 
by  the  day  on  which  Franz  insisted  with  very  unusual 
pertinacity;  she  had  even  openly  confessed  that  she  had 
never  looked  upon  it  as  such  a  very  great  misfortune  to 
have  to  begin  her  housekeeping  with  a  few  dozen  nap- 
kins, towels,  etc.,  which  were  not  yet  hemmed,  or  marked 
in  full. 

Nothing,  therefore,  was  more  painful  to  Sophie  in 
these  days  of  excitement  and  great  pressure  than  that 
the  familiar  circle  could  not,  as  usually,  assemble  at 
night  around  the  fire-place  in  the  sitting-room.  The 
father,  although  able  to  sit  up  daily  a  little  longer,  had 
yet  to  retire  quite  early  ;  Franz  was  often  down  town 
till  far  in  the  night,  or  he  had  to  study  in  his  rooms ; 
even  "  the  third  in  the  league,"  the  old  student,  as  he 
called  himself,  Bcmperlcin,  alias  Bemperlv,  did  not  show 
himself  nowadays,  and  Sophie  had  at  last  deemed  it 
her   duty  to    inquire  for  him  at  his  lodging,  thinking 


264  Through  Night  to  Light. 

that  he  might  be  sick,  and  that  Franz  had  kept  it  secret 
from  her  so  as  to  cause  her  no  apprehension.  But  she 
found  the  old  student  in  his  laboratory,  in  the  midst  of 
phials,  retorts,  boxes,  and  instruments — looking,  if  not 
like  Faust,  at  least  like  Faust's  famulus — at  all  events 
very  busy  and  industrious,  but  evidently  not  in  danger 
of  life  from  sickness.  Bemperlein  excused  himself  on  the 
score  of  his  work — a  very  complicated  chemical  analysis, 
which  must  not  be  interrupted.  How  could  Sophie  think 
he  had  taken  anything  amiss? — he,  and  take  amiss!  and 
from  Sophie  ! — really,  the  analysis  alone  was  to  blame, 
and  as  an  evidence  of  it  he  promised  to  come  that  very 
night  and  stay  as  long  as  ever. 

Sophie's  eves,  though  a  little  near-sighted,  were  yet  very 
well  able  to  see  things  near  by,  and  thus  she  had  not 
failed  to  notice  a  certain  veil  of  embarrassment  which 
hung  over  Bemperlein's  honest  face,  while  he  blamed 
the  troublesome  analysis.  As  the  young  lady  was  slowly 
walking  homeward,  and  thought  what  might  be  the  real 
reason  why  Bemperlein  had  stayed  away,  she  came, 
just  as  she  was  turning  around  a  corner,  upon  a  gentle- 
man who  came  hurriedly  from  the  opposite  direction. 

"  Pardon !  "  said  the  gentleman,  lifting  his  hat  and 
hurrying  on. 

It  was  Oswald  Stein.  He  had  evidently  not  recog- 
nized Sophie. 

This  unexpected  meeting  gave  a  new  direction  to  So- 
phie's thoughts.  She  remembered  now  that  Bemperlein 
had  not  been  at  her  house  since  he  had  met  Oswald 
there,  who  was  just  about  to  leave  with  Helen  ;  that  the 
meeting  of  the  two  gentlemen  had  been  very  cold, 
strangely  cold,  and  that  Bemperlein  had  given  evasive 
answers  to  all  their  questions  about  the  relations  in 
which  he  stood  to  Oswald.  Was  it  Oswald,  who  had 
since  spent  several  evenings  there,  once  in  company  with 
Helen  Grenwitz,  who  had  frightened  away  Bemperlein  .? 
Was  Bemperlein  jealous } 

As  Sophie  knew  nothing  of  Bemperlein's  former 
relations  to  Oswald,  she  could  of  course  hardly  expect 
to  guess  rightly.     The  truth  lay  somewhere  else. 

When  Auastasius  Bemperlein  was  no  longer  willing 


Through  Night  to  Light.  265 

to  shake  hands  -with  a  man  whom  he  had  once  esteemed 
liighlv  and  loved  heartily,  one  might  rest  assured  that  a 
goodly  portion  of  strong  poison  must  have  been  mixed 
with  his  milk  of  human  kindness.  Anastasius  Bemper- 
Icin  had  fully  trusted  Oswald  Stein.  He  had  seen  the 
life  and  happiness  of  those  he  loved  best  in  his  hand 
without  fear,  and  he  had  overcome  all  his  apprehensions 
about  a  vmion  formed  so  suddenly  and  resting  on  the 
unsafe  basis  of  entirely  different  social  positions.  He 
had  said  to  himself,  "  All  this  is  idle  nonsense  in  com- 
parison with  the  invaluable  price  of  true  love.  Is  not 
love  stronger  than  faith  and  hope ;  how  can  it  fail  to  be 
stronger  than  foolish  prejudices  1  "  He  had  reached  a 
point  where  he  had  seen  in  the  union' of  Melitta  and 
Oswald  a  triumph  of  pure  humanity  over  the  barbarism 
of  civilization,  and  victory  of  truth  over  falsehood. 

But  onlv  upon  such  a  lofty  basis  was  such  a  union 
justifiable  and  possible.  If  one  or  the  other  sank  below 
the  level,  both  were  lost.  Bemperlein  had  known  Frau 
von  Berkow  for  seven  years  ;  he  knew  that  her  heart 
was  true  and  good.  Bemperlein  had  known  Oswald 
for  as  many  weeks,  and  he  thought  Oswald  was  worthy 
of  hef.  He  thought  so  because  he  had  no  choice ; 
because  to  doubt  would  have  seemed  to  him  to  insult 
his  much-beloved  friend. 

And  yet  such  doubts  had  made  their  way  to  his  heart, 
slowly,  silently,  as  in  our  dreams  a  fearful  monster 
drags  itself  towards  us  and  we  try  in  vain  to  escape. 
He  had  struggled  against  these  doubts  vintil  he  could 
struggle  no  longer. 

Melitta  had  returned  from  her  second  journey  to 
Fichtenan,  on  which  Bemperlein  had  in  vain  offered  to 
accompany  her ;  but  after  a  few  hours'  stay  at  Grun- 
wald  she  had  gone  on  with  Julius  to  Berkow,  without 
sending  for  Bemperlein.  The  latter  did  not  hear  of  her 
having  been  there  except  through  old  Baumann,  who 
had  remained  behind  to  arrange  Julius's  things,  and  to 
execute  some  other  commissions.  Bemperlein  had 
never  spoken  to  the  old  man  about  Oswald.  This  time 
the  latter  began  himself.  Ilotold  him  that  Oswald  had 
been  at  Fichtenan  when  the^were  there,  that  he  had 
12 


ifTjirlVEBSITY]) 


266  Through  Night  to  Light. 

learnt  from  the  waiter  that  his  mistress  was  at  the  hotel, 
but  had  left  again  without  calling  on  her.  Here  he 
paused,  evidently  in  order  to  hear  what  Bemperlein 
would  say  about  this  piece  of  news.  But  when  Bem- 
perlein said  nothing  but  "  so  so  !  "  "  indeed  !  "  the  old 
man  could  no  longer  control  himself,  and  poured  out 
his  full  heart,  and  with  it  the  full  cup  of  his  wrath  over 
Oswald. 

"  He  had  never  trusted  the  fine  gentleman  from  the 
first  moment,  and  now  he  thought  it  as  clear  as  light 
that  the  scamp  had  deceived  his  mistress  infamously. 
He  had  spoken  himself  to  his  mistress  about  it,  with  all 
deference — for  he  knew  he  was  nothing  but  a  servant, 
and  knew  his  place — but  also  very  seriously,  for  he  had 
carried  her  about  as  a  child  in  his  arms,  and  had  always 
loved  her  tenderly;  and  she  had  always  confessed  to 
him  on  all  such  occasions,  not  entirely  and  not  by  halves, 
but  sufficiently  full  for  him,  who  knew  her  as  well  as  his 
own  hand.  And  then  he  had  had  a  great  desire  to 
shoot  the  fine  ge^ntleman  who  had  played  his  mistress 
such  a  mean  trick,  like  a  mad  dog;  and  little  had  been 
wanting  one  night  on  the  heath  between  Grenwitz  and 
Fashwitz.  But  now  he  thanked  God  that  he  had  held 
his  arm  and  saved  him  from  such  a  crime,  especially  as 
he  has  allowed  it  to  happen  that  the  story  did  not  break 
the  good  lady's  heart,  but  opened  her  eyes  and  showed 
her  the  way  in  which  alone  she  can  find  happiness  on 
earth."  Which  this  way  was  the  old  man  had  not  said, 
but  had  risen  and  marched  straight  out  of  the  room,  as 
if  he  wished  to  make  all  further  questions  utterly  im- 
possible. 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  how  much  this  conversa- 
tion, which  confirmed  his  worst  fears,  had  alfected  Bem- 
perlein ;  and  what  impression  it  must  have  made  upon 
him,  when  he  came,  quite  full  of  these  sensations,  to 
Doctor  Rohan's  house,  and  the  first  man  who  met  him 
there  was  Oswald. 

This  meeting  had  been  so  painful  to  him,  and  a  possi- 
ble repetition  seemed  to  him  so  intolerable,  that  it  took 
him  a  whole  week  to  recover  from  his  fright;  and  that 
he  would   perhaps    never   have   recovered   entirely  if 


Through  Night  to  Light.  267 

Sophie  had  not  come  and  made  an  end  to  his  indecision. 
Poor  Bemperlein  !  He  had  longed  to  see  his  fair  friend 
so  much  !  He  had  to  tell  her  matters  of  such  importance 
— of  amazing  importance  for  Anastasius  Bemperlein. 

Fortunately  Sophie  was  alone  when  he  appeared  an 
hour  later  in  her  sitting-room.  Franz  had  just  left, 
promising  to  be  back  later.  Sophie  was  surprised  by 
Bemperlein's  repeated  question:  "  But  there  will  be  no 
other  visitor  to-night .-'  "  and  she  naturally  connected 
these  questions  with  her  suspicions  about  the  causes  of 
Bemperlein's  absence.  As  it  was  not  her  nature  to  keep 
a  thing  long  to  herself,  she  said,  after  watching  Bemper- 
lein for  a  time  in  silence  as  he  was  continually  stirring 
the  fire  with  a  poker, 

"  Was  not  the  true  reason,  Bemperly,  why  you  have 
not  been  here  for  a  whole  week,  that  you  did  not  wish 
to  meet  Oswald  Stein  here .''  " 

"  Who  says  so  1  "  asked  Bemperlein,  pausing  in  his 
occupation,  quite  frightened. 

"  A  question  is  no  answer,"  replied  Sophie.  "Out 
with  it,  Bemperly !  It  does  not  pay  to  attempt  keeping 
secrets  in  your  intercourse  with  such  clever  people  as  I 
am.     I  know  everything." 

"What  do  you  know.''"  exclaimed  Bemperlein,  in 
great  excitement,  and  jumping  up  from  his  chair. 

"  Why,  Bemperly !  "  said  Sophie,  "  you  forget  all  con- 
sideration for  my  nerves.  You  frighten  me  out  of 
my  wits,  standing  there  with  the  red-hot  poker  in  your 
hands  like  the  man  in  Shakespeare.  Compose  your- 
self, I  pray  you !  I  know  nothing  at  all.  But  you 
would  really  do  me  a  favor,  if — pray  sit  down  again  and 
put  the  poker  down  ! — well !  if  you  would  tell  me  in  all 
peacefulness  and  friendship  what  is  the  matter  with 
you,  for  the  more  I  look  at  you  the  more  change  I  see 
in  you." 

"  Miss  Sophie,"  replied  Bemperlein,  "  you  know  we 
cannot  always  be  quite  open,  even  with  our  most  inti- 
mate friends — and  there  is  no  one  in  the  wide  world 
I  would  trust  rather  than  you — because  our  secrets  are 
in  many  cases  not  our  own,  but  are  shared  by  others, 
and  have  to  be  kept  sacred  for  their  sake." 


268  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Why,  Bemperly  !  "  said  Sophie,  "  you  surely  do  not 
think  I  want  to  pry  into  your  secrets !  I  am  neither 
so  impertinent  nor  so  curious.  Let  us  drop  the  matter 
and  talk  of  something  else !  " 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Bemperlein,  eagerly,  "  let  us 
speak  of  it !  You  do  not  know  how  I  have  longed  to 
talk  with  you — about — certain  things — certain  persons — 
who " 

Mr.  Bemperlein  had  once  more  seized  the  poker,  which 
had  not  yet  cooled  off,  and  stirred  the  coals  more  as- 
siduously than  ever.  Sophie  shook  her  head  as  she 
watched  his  doing  so.  It  occurred  to  her  that  Bemper- 
lein might  have  made  too  great  exertions  in  his  chem- 
ical analysis,  and  that  his  mind  might  have  been  some- 
what injured. 

"  As  for  my  not  coming  here,"  continvied  Bemperlein, 
of  a  sudden,  "  you  were  quite  right.  I  stayed  away  be- 
cause I  did  not  wish  to  meet  Oswald  Stein  here." 

"  But,"  said  Sophie,  "  Franz  told  me  you  and  Oswald 
Stein  had  be6n  very  good  friends.  How  did  you  fall 
out .?  " 

"  How  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bemperlein.  "  Why,  Miss  Sophie, 
that  is  exactly  what  I  cannot  tell  you,  much  as  I  would 
like  to  tell  you.  Would  you  be  friends  with  somebody, 
or  rather  would  you  not  try  in  every  way  to  avoid  meet- 
ing somebody,  who  had  mortally  offended  a  third  per 
son  whom  you  love  and  revere.'*  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Sophie,  "  for  then  he  would  have 
oflTended  myself  But  are  you  quite  sure  that  that  is  so  1 
Have  you  heard  both  parties  1  As  for  myself,  I  am  not 
so  enchanted  with  Mr.  Stein ;  or,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  dis- 
like him  the  more  the  oftener  I  see  him  ;  but  Franz,  who 
'is  very  clever,  and  a  capital  judge  of  men,  is  quite 
enthusiastic  about  him.  How  could  that  be  if  Stein 
were  a  bad  man  1  " 

"  I  did  not  say  he  was  bad,"  replied  Bemperlein,  work- 
ing hard  at  a  big  lump  of  coal;  "bad  is  a  very  relative 
idea,  and  what  I  call  acting  badly,  Mr.  Stein  calls,  per- 
haps, only  acting  thoughtlessly,  in  a  cavalier  manner,  or 
some  such  name.  But  I  call  it  acting  badly,  if  a 
man " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  269 

Here  Bemperlein  interrupted  himself,  and  poked  more 
violently  at  the  coal  than  ever. 

"How  would  you  call  it,  for  instance — I  do  not  speak 
now  of  Mr.  Stein — if  a  man  were  to  promise  marriage 
to  a  poor  dependent  girl,  without  parents,  without 
friends,  who  has  not  a  soul  in  this  wide,  wide  world  to 
protect  her,  who  has  believed  his  oaths  and  is  Avilling  to 
follow  him,  and  who  then  finds  herself  sold  and  betrayed 
to  a — Oh  it  is  rascally,  it  is  atrocious  !" 

"  But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Oswald  surely  has  not " 

"  I  told  you  I  am  not  speaking  now  of  Mr.  Stein. 
There  are  more  cavaliers  of  the  sort  in  this  world,  and 
they  look  as  much  one  like  the  other  as  one  viper  looks 
like  another  viper." 

"  My  dear  Bemperly,  I  pray  you  put  the  poker  down ; 
I  can  really  stand  it  no  longer.  Take  this  cushion,  if 
you  must  absolutely  have  something  in  your  hand." 

"  Thanks,"  said  ^emperlein,  putting  down  the  poker, 
and  seizing  the  cushion  ;  and  then,  holding  it  like  a  baby 
in  his  arms,  sinking  into  deep  silence. 

Sophie  began  now  in  good  earnest  to  be  troubled 
about  Bemperlein's  excited  condition.  But  what  was 
her  terror  when  Bemperlein  suddenly  jumped  up,  let 
the  cushion  in  his  arm  fall  on  the  ground,  knelt  down 
on  it  with  both  knees,  seized  one  of  her  hands  in  his 
own,  and  bowing  low  before  her,  groaned  in  most  pite- 
ous tones:  "Oh  !  Miss  Sophie,  Miss  Sophie!  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Bemperly,"  exclaimed  the  young 
lady,  "  get  up  !     If  anybody  saw  you — saw  us  I  " 

"  Let  me  kneel,"  murmured  Mr.  Bemperlein.  "  I 
must  tell  you  ;  and  I  cannot  tell  you  if  you  look  at  me 
with  your  big  eyes,  or  if  you  were  to  laugh " 

Sophie  at  first  did  not  know  whether  she  should 
laugh  or  cry  at  this  unexpected  declaration  of  love. 
For  Bemperlein's  sake  she  could  have  cried ;  but  for 
her  own  person,  she  could  hardly  help  laughing  aloud. 

"  Bemperly,"  she  said,  "  Bemperly,  compose  yourself; 
think  of  wliat  you  are  saying,  of  what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  know,"  murmured  Bemperlein.  "  I  have  told  my- 
self so  a  hundred  and  a  thousand  times.     At  my  age — " 

"  Leaving  that  aside,"  said  Sophie,  in  whom  the  incli- 


270  Through  Night  to  Light. 

nation  to  laugh  gradually  became  too  strong,  "  how  can 
you,  Franz's  best  friend,  and  —  at  least  I  have  looked 
upon  you  in  that  light  until  now — my  best  friend " 

"  I  shall  remain  your  friend  ;  I  shall  remain  Franz's 
friend,"  cried  Bemperlein  with  great  animation.  "  Love 
and  friendship  shall  both  find  room  in  my  heart ;  they 
shall  become  only  the  purer,  the  deeper,  the  holier,  the 
one  through  the  other." 

"  But,  Bemperly,  how  do  you  reconcile  it  with  such 
a  lofty  Platonic  love  to  lie  on  your  knees  like  a  Don 
Carlos.?  If  Franz  should  at  this  moment  come  in  at  the 
door " 

"  And  if  he  came,"  cried  Bemperlein,  jumping  up, 
"  '  //  ny  a  que  le  premier  pas  qui  coute.'  I  feel,  now  that  I 
have  spoken — that  I  have  spoken  to  you — the  courage 
to  tell  it  to  all  the  world.  Franz  will  approve  of  my 
choice  when  he  knows  her  as  I  know  her." 

"  As  you  know  me .?  " 

"And  you  also  will  approve  of  it,"  cried  Bemperlein, 
utterly  unmindful  of  her  interruption,  and  waving  the 
cushion  like  a  flag  in  the  air;  "  you  will  be  a  friend  and 
a  sister  to  the  poor  girl ;  you  jvill  do  it  for  my  sake,  be- 
cause I  love  you  and  esteem  you  so  xerj  much ;  you  will 
do  it  for  her  sake,  for  you  may  believe  me.  Miss  Sophie, 
she  deserves  it." 

"  But  whom  do  you  mean,  Bemperly  .'  " 

"  I  thought  you  knew  long  since,"  said  Bemperlein, 
suddenly,  half  frightened  ;  and  then  he  added  in  a  very 
low  voice  :  "  Marguerite  Martin,  the  governess  at  Gren- 
witz  !  " 

Fortunately,  Bemperlein's  excitement  was  too  great 
to  allow  him  to  observe  the  confusion  created  by  this 
announcement  in  Sophie's  mind.  The  knot  was  cut 
most  unexpectedly.  She  had  been  so  near  committing 
a  great  folly  by  suspecting  her  friend  of  another  great 
folly !  And  yet  she  was  not  quite  free  from  a  little  dis- 
appointment that  she  was  not  the  exclusive  idol  of  Bem- 
perlein !  Such  a  feeling  could  of  course  only  pass  for 
an  instant  through  Sophie's  heart  as  a  light  breeze  curls 
the  mirror-like  surface  of  a  deep  lake  only  in  passing, 
and  before  Bemperlein  had  quite  recovered  his  equa- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  271 

nimity  she  was  again  wholly  the  sympathizing,  prudent 
friend  for  whom  Bemperlein  had  been  longing  in  the 
anguish  of  his  heart. 

As  to  the  fact  that  Bemperlein,  quiet,  old-maidish 
Bemperlein,  had  been  seized  with  a  passion — that  did 
not  surprise  her  so  much.  Her  main  apprehension  was, 
that  the  modest,  unsuspecting  man,  who  in  spite  of  his 
"thirty  years  was  utterly  inexperienced,  might  have  fallen 
into  the  net  of  a  coquette  ;  and  this  fear  was  all  the  more 
serious  as  she  had  heard  the  brown  eyes  of  Marguerite 
spoken  of  more  than  once  in  connection  with  events 
which  seemed  to  confiim  her  suspicion.  Her  first  ques- 
tion was,  therefore, 

"  Do  you  really  know  Mademoiselle  ^Marguerite,  Bem- 
perlein .''  I  mean,  do  you  know  that  she  is  a  good  girl  ; 
that  she  has  a  good  heart ;  in  one  word,  that  she  is 
worthy  of  my  good  Bemperlein  .'" 

"  She  worthy  of  me  .''  "  cried  Bemperlein,  most  enthu- 
siastically. 

"  You  mean  to  say,  that  I  am  worthy  of  her .'  " 

"  I  wanted  to  say  exactly  what  I  said.  I,  your  best  friend 
— for  that  privilege  I  am  not  willing  to  give  up  yet — I 
have  the  right  and  the  duty  to  be  strict,  and  to  examine 
before  I  say  :  Yes  and  Amen." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Sophie,  I  assure  you  my  Marguerite  is  an 
angel." 

"  Your  Marguerite .''  Why,  look  at  the  lion-hearted 
Bemperlein  .^  Has  it  come  to  that  already  1  But,  jesting 
apart,  Bemperly !  what  do  you  know  of  the  angelic 
character  of  your  Marguerite  .-'  I  mean  of  that  angelic 
nature  which  is  perceptible  to  other  mortals  also  .-• 
Come,  sit  down  here  by  me  quietly,  before  the  fire,  and 
tell  me  the  whole  thing  from  the  beginning.  Here,  take 
your  cushion  again,  but  please  leave  the  poker  where 
it  is!  " 

In  spite  of  the  trifling  words,  Sophie's  voice  sounded  so 
faithful  and  good,  and  her  large  blue  eyes  looked  so  full  of 
sympathy  and  kindness,  that  Bemperlein  was  not  in  the 
least  afraid  now  to  let  the  dear  girl  look  into  the  holiest 
of  his  heart,  and  to  tell  her  everything,  which  he  did  not 
even  dare  to  think  of  but  with  trembling ! 


272  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"Yoii  remember,  Miss  Sophie,"  he  began,  "that  I  told 
you  and  Franz  recently  how  I  went  to  the  Gren witz  House 
in  order  to  find  out  what  the  baroness,  who  had  sent  for 
me,  wanted  of  me.  I  told  you  also  that  I  found  Mad- 
emoiselle Marguerite  in  the  ante-room,  and  the  remarka- 
ble scene  which  there  took  place  ;  but  I  did  not  tell  vou, 
and  I  have  not  let  anybody  see  yet,  the  deep  impression 
which  that  scene  had  made  on  me.  A  man  who  has- 
grown  up  in  great  poverty,  as  I  have,  and  who  has  had  to 
struggle  hard  with  cares  and  troubles,  learns  to  under- 
stand thoroughly  what  it  means  to  be  helpless  and  for- 
saken. You  will  understand,  therefore,  what  I  mean, 
when  I  say  that  such  a  man,  when  he  sees  others  suffer, 
feels  and  thinks  very  differently  from  those  who  have 
never  been  in  such  a  position.  Th.i.t  was  the  reason  why 
I  could  not  get  rid  of  the  sight  of  the  poor,  forsaken  girl 
in  tears.  I  saw  her  continually  before  me  as  she  was 
standing  near  the  door  which  led  to  the  rooms  of  the  baro- 
ness sobbing  and  pressing  her  little  hands  upon  her  eyes, 
while  the  bright  tears  were  slipping  through  the  slender 
fingers.  I  heard  continually  the  words  :  '  OJi,  je  siiis  si 
malheureuse^'  and  I  worried  myself  to  find  out  why  the 
poor  girl  should  be  so  unhappy;  for  I  could  have 
sworn  that  there  mvxst  have  been  another  cause  than 
the  mere  sense  of  dependence,  or  the  pain  of  having 
been  once  more  vmjustly  scolded. 

"  This  troubled  me  so  much  that  I  could  not  sleep  all 
night  long,  and  the  next  day  it  seemed  to  me  an  eternity 
before  the  time  came  when  I  Avas  to  wait  on  the  baroness. 
At  last  it  struck  two  o'clock.  I  went  to  the  house  and 
was  admitted  at  once.  The  baroness  Avas  alone  in  her 
room.  She  was  uncommonly  gracious,  inquired  after 
Frau  von  Berkow,  asked  how  I  liked  Grunwald,  if  I 
had  much  to  do,  and  at  last  came  out  with  her  request. 
She  could  not  make  up  her  mind,  she  said,  to  send  Malte 
to  college,  for  reasons  which  she  mentioned,  but  which 
were  so  foolish  that  I  will  not  repeat  them  here ;  but 
she  was  as  little  inclined  to  try  anotlicr  tutor  after  the 
sad  experiences  which  she  had  made.  The  lady,  tliere- 
fore,  decided  to  have  him  tauglit  at  home  by  private 
tutors,  who  must,  of  course,  be  tried  men  of  well-known 


Through  Night  to  Light.  273 

principles,  and — now  we  came  to  tlic  point — would  I, 
whom  she  esteemed  most  highly,  aid  her  in  her  work, 
and  give  her  son,  daily,  one  or  two  lessons  in  ancient 
languages!  Now  you  may  imagine,  Miss  Sophie,  that 
I  would  have  refused  under  other  circumstances  without 
hesitation  ;  becavise,  setting  every  other  consideration 
aside,  I  could  employ  my  time  much  better  than  by 
sacrificing  it  for  th'e  sake  of  a  stupid  boy,  whom  I  never 
could  bear ;  but  I  considered  that  this  might  give  me  an 
opportunity  to  meet  poor  Marguerite  more  frequently, 
and  as  this  was  my  most  ardent  wish,  the  offer  of  the 
baroness  seemed  to  me  a  sign  from  on  high,  and  I  ac- 
cepted it  at  once." 

"Bravo,  Bemperly!  "  said  Sophie;  "I  see  you  have, 
after  all,  more  talent  for  a  little  innocent  intrigue  than 
I  expected." 

"  Oh,  it  comes  still  better,"  replied  Bemperlein,  smil- 
ing; "  you  will  marvel  at  my  talent.  In  the  course  of 
the  conversation  the  baroness  spoke  also  of  French  les- 
sons, and  mentioned  how  inconvenient  it  was  to  have  to 
engage  a  French  teacher,  although  she  had  a  French 
woman  in  the  house,  because  she  had  little  confidence  in 
mademoiselle's  grammatical  knowledge.  I  said  at  once 
— I  do  not  know  yet  how  I  gathered  courage  to  do  so — 
that  I  was  sure  mademoiselle  would  very  quickly  learn 
grammar,  and  be  able  to  teach  it  hereafter,  if  she  had 
been  carried  once  through  a  regular  course  of  grammar. 
My  time,  I  told  her,  was  fully  occupied  ;  but  half  an  hour 
every  day — the  baroness  did  not  let  me  finish,  and  ac- 
cepted my  offer  at  once.  The  very  next  day  the  lessons 
were  to  begin." 

"  When  did  you  have  that  interview  with  the  baroness.'' " 

"  Yesterday  was  a  week,  on  the  same  day  on  which  I 
had  come  home  very  full  of  this  interview,  and  of  another 
which  I  had  had  on  my  return  home  with — with — I  must 
not  tell  you,  Miss  Sophie,  with  whom — when  I  hastened 
to  you.     I  found  Mr  Stein  here." 

Bemperlein  paused;  his  face  darkened  once  more,  and 
he  took  hold  again  of  the  poker. 

Sophie  took  it  quietly  out  of  his  hand,  placed  it  further 
away,  and  said : 
12* 


2  74  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  You  were  excited  that  evening,  and  did  not  stay 
long.  Does  the  other  interview  with  tlie  great  un]<:nown 
stand  in  any  connection  witla  yovir  story?  " 

"  Not  directly,"  replied  Bemperlein,  seizing  once  more 
the  cushion,  "  only,  inasmuch  as  it  increased  my  interest 
in  poor  Marguerite,  to  whom — and  afterwards  my  sus- 
picions have  been  most  remarkably  confirmed — some- 
thing similar  might  have  happened ;  but  never  mind 
that !  Next  day,  then,  I  began  my  lessons.  The  lesson 
with  that  boy,  Malte,  was  soon  over.  I  was  left  alone  in 
the  room,  and  waited  for  my  fair  pupil ;  I  can  tell  you. 
Miss  Sophie,  my  heart  beat !  Why,  I  could  not  tell  my- 
self. I  only  know  that  I  felt  all  of  a  sudden  as  if  I  were  a 
very  bad  man.  I  had  never  yet  in  all  my  life  played  come- 
dy; and  these  lessons  in  grammar  were,  after  all,  noth- 
ing but  comedy.  I  had  a  great  mind  to  run  away ;  but 
as  that  could  not  very  well  be  done,  I  could  only  pull 
up  my  collar,  make  a  bow  before  the  mirror,  and  say 
with  my  best  accent :  '■Ah.,  ban  jour,  Mademoiselle,  comment 
vous,  portez-vous .' '  As  I  repeated  the  question  a  third 
time — and  this  time  to  my  complete  satisfaction — the 
lady  came  into  the  room,  a  book  in  her  hand,  and  I  was 
so  much  confused  by  the  fear  she  might  have  seen  me 
before  the  mirror  that  I  blushed  all  over,  and  stammered 
something,  Avhich  might  possibly  have  been  French,  but 
which  certainly  was  very  foolish,  for  Mademoiselle  Mar- 
guerite smiled  and  said  something  of  bonte  and  enseigner. 
Next  I  only  know  that  we  were  sitting  opposite  each 
other,  and  that  we  were  turning  over  the  leaves  withovit 
saying  a  word — what  else  can  I  tell  you.  Miss  Sophie.? 
What  is  best  and  most  necessary  I  can,  after  all,  not  tell 
you.  I  have  been  with  Marguerite  now  for  a  week 
daily,  quite  alone,  during  a  whole  hour.  We  have  not 
studied  grammar ;  at  least,  we  never  read  beyond  the 
first  pages;  but,  in  return,  she  has  opened  to  me  the  book 
of  her  life,  and  I  have  been  allowed  to  read  it,  word  by 
word,  from  the  first  to  the  last  page.  I  tell  yovi,  INIiss 
Sophie,  there  is  not  a  bad  word  in  it,  and  not  a  page  of 
which  she  need  be  ashamed.  She  has  had  to  fight  her 
way  through  the  world,  poor  tiling — much  worse  tlian 
I !     Her  parents  died  so  early  that  she  has  never  known 


Through  Night  to  Light.  275 

them ;  brothers  and  sisters  or  near  relations  she  never 
had,  except  a  wicked  aunt,  who  made  her  life  a  hell,  un- 
til at  fourteen  she  fell  among  strangers,  who  at  least  did 
not  beat  her  like  her  wretched  aunt.  Alas  !  Miss  Sophie, 
if  I  were  to  tell  you  what  the  poor  thing  has  suffered, 
you  would  say:  'Such  things  are  impossible,' and  your 
heart  would  overflow  with  sympathy  as  mine  did." 

Mr.  Bemperlein  paused  because  his  emotion  was  too 
deep.  Sophie  took  his  hand  and  said,  "  Good  Bemper- 
ly !  "  Bemperlein  returned  the  pressure  warmly,  and 
continued,  after  having  cleared  his  voice  repeatedly  to 
hide  his  emotion  : 

"  She  kept  nothing  from  me ;  not  even  that  she  has 
of  late  had  a  connection  with  a  bad  man  (I  repeat,  Miss 
Sophie,  that  I  am  not  speaking  of  Mr.  Stein) — with  a 
man  who  has  cheated  her  most  egregiously,  and  who 
wished  to  hand  her  over  to  a  notorious  scapegrace.  But 
that  is  such  a  mean,  low  story  that  I  would  rather  not 
speak  of  it,  even  if  I  had  not  promised  Marguerite  never 
to  mention  the  person  in  question  to  any  one,  whoever 
it  be.  And  now,"  concluded  Bemperlein,  taking  both 
of  Sophie's  hands  in  his  own,  "  what  do  you  say,  now 
you  know  all.?  " 

Sophie  was  somewhat  embarrassed  by  the  sudden 
question.  She  had  formed  a  picture  of  Marguerite  from 
casual  remarks  made  by  Helen,  Oswald,  and  her  be- 
trothed, which  was  by  no  means  flattering  for  the  young 
lady  ;  and  even  Bemperlein's  account  was  not  calculated 
to  remove  her  prejudice  completely.  She  was  pained 
to  have  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  the  poor  man,  whose  kind 
face  was  turned  towards  her  with  an  excited,  anxious 
expression,  as  if  life  and  death  depended  on  her  decision, 
and  yet  she  could  and  would  not  prevaricate,  and  an 
answer  she  must  give.  She  assumed,  therefore,  a  charm- 
ing air  of  wisdom,  shaking  her  head  gently  and  thought- 
fully, 

"  Love  is  a  curious  thing,  Bemperly.  I  have  often 
reflected  on  it  since  the  time  that  I  have  learnt  to  know 
Franz  and  to  love  him.  There  are  sensations  which  are 
very  praiseworthy  in  themselves,  but  they  are  not  love, 
and  we  must  be  careful  not  to  mistake  them  for  love. 


276  Through  Night  to  Light. 

And  the  nobler  the  heart  the  more  easily  it  falls  into  the 
danger  of  committing  such  an  error,  just  as  the  most 
trustful  people  are  always  the  readiest  to  take  false 
money  instead  of  good  money.  I,  for  instance,  never 
failed  to  find  a  false  coin  in  my  purse  upon  returning 
from  market,  if  there  was  a  false  piece  in  the  Avhole 
crowd.  Now,  there  is  no  sensation  which  looks  so 
much  like  love,  and  which  deceives  so  readily  a  noble 
heart,  as  sympathy.  Might  it  not  be,  Bemperly "  — 
and  here  the  young  lady  put  her  hand  upon  Bemper- 
lein's  hand — "  that,  as  your  interest  for  Miss  Marguerite 
first  arose  from  sympathy,  it  may  to  this  moment  not 
be  the  genuine  love,  but  only  sympathy .''  " 

Bemperlein's  face  had  been  growing  longer  with  every 
word  of  this  long  exposition.  He  had  expected  a  very 
different  welcome  for  his  news  here.  Almost  despairing, 
he  asked,  therefore, 

"  But,  Miss  Sophie,  how  do  you  distinguish  sympathy 
from  love.''  Is  not  the  love  of  our  neighbor,  the  purest 
form  of  love,  identical  with  sympathy  }  " 

"The  love  of  the  neighbor  .-* "  replied  Sophie;  "yes! 
but  not  that  love  of  which  we  are  speaking — the  love 
which  we  must  feel  if  we  wish  to  marry  somebody — 
the  love,  for  instance,  Avhich  I  feel  for  Franz,  and  which 
Franz  feels  for  me.  That  is  something  very  different, 
quite  different," — and  the  young  philosopher  nodded 
thovightfully  her  wise  head. 

"  But  what  is  it  then  ?  "  cried  Bemperlein,  desperately. 
"  How  can  we  find  out  if  Ave  really  love  ?  " 

"  That  is  very  difficult,"  replied  Sophie  ;  "  yet  it  is  also 
very  easy.  For  instance;  have  you  always  simply  wished 
to  transfer  Miss  Marguerite  from  her  dependent  position 
to  a  better  one,  to  shelter  her,  to  protect  her  against  all 
trouble  and  danger;  or  have  you  sometimes  desired " 

Here  the  philosopher  hesitated  and  blushed. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Bemperlein,  eagerly. 

"  To  give  her  a  kiss !  "  said  Sophie,  determined  to  clear 
the  matter  up,  even  at  the  risk  of  being  thought  indis- 
creet. 

"  If  that  is  all,"  said  Bemperlein,  triumphantly,  "I  can 
answer  that  question  with  Yes  !  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  277 

"  Bravo,  Bemperly !     And  have  you  given  her  a  kiss  ?  " 

"No!" 

"  Have  you  confessed  your  love  to  her  ?  " 

"No!  " 

"  How  do  you  know,  then,  that  she  loves  you  too  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  that." 

The  gradually  decreasing  certainty  of  these  negations 
was  so  comical  that  Sophie  could  hardly  keep  from 
laughing. 

"But,  Bemperly,"  she  cried,  "how  will  you  find  that 
out  ?  " 

"I  Avill  ask  her!  "  replied  Bemperlein,  resolutely. 

"•  Very  Avell !     And  if  she  says  No  }  " 

"  She  cannot  say  so  ;  she  will  not  say  so  ;  "  cried  Bem- 
perlein, pale  with  emotion.  "  I  have  never  thought  of 
it,  but  that  would  be  terrible.  I — I  thought  it  would 
be  so  beautiful  if  she  should  become  my  wife  and  I 
could  work  for  her,  and  I  could  love  her  and  she  should 
love  me  back  again !  For  I  must  love  somebody  with 
my  whole  heart,  and  I  must  feel  that  somebody  loves 
me  with  the  whole  heart,  or  I  am  the  most  wretched 
of  men  in  the  world.  Oh,  Miss  Sophie!  surely,  surely, 
Marguerite  will  not  say  No !  " 

His  voice  trembled  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  The 
kind-hearted  girl  was  hardly  less  deeply  moved.  The 
passionate  feeling  of  Bemperlein  had  touched  a  sympa- 
thetic chord  in  her  heart.  She  felt  suddenly  under  an 
obligation  to  protect  the  youthful  love  of  her  thirty- 
year-old  pupil  with  all  her  power. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Bemperly  ?  "  she  said,  very  deci- 
dedly. "  We  can  soon  find  out.  Bring  Marguerite 
here !  " 

Bemperlein  breathed  freely  again. 

"May  I,  really.?  " 

"  Of  course.  I  cannot  very  well  rail  on  her,  because 
that  would  attract  attention ;  but  she  can  come  here 
without  its  being  noticed.  Just  tell  her  I  should  like  to 
make  her  acquaintance.  If  she  loves  you,  she  will  come 
soon  enough  ;  and  if  we  once  have  her  here,  the  rest 
will  follow  of  course.  Yes,  yes,"  continued  the  young 
lady,  clapping  her  hands  with  delight,  "  that  is  the  way  ! 


278  Through  Night  to  Light. 

that  is  the  way !  And  when  we  are  good  friends,  then 
we  have  another  plan — oh,  Bemperly,  another  plan — if 
you  knew  what — but  no,  no  ! — you  must  not  know  yet — 
nor  must  Franz  know.  Hush,  there  he  is.  Not  a  word, 
Bemperly,  oi our  secret!  " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

FELIX  had  changed  sadly  in  these  days,  and  it  looked 
almost  as  if  his  last  appearance  as  a  star  in  Gren- 
witz,  which  had  been  such  a  ^mentable  failure, 
should  also  be  his  last  performance  in  the  salons  where 
he  had  so  often  shone  brilliantly.  The  wound  which 
he  had  received  in  his  duel  with  Oswald,  though  in 
itself  not  dangerous,  had  thoroughly  undermined  his 
Avhole  system,  already  weakened  by  a  wild,  profligate 
life,  just  as  a  house  in  which  the  timber  is  affected  with 
dry  rot  will  be  in  danger  of  tumbling  down  at  any 
time,  if  but  one  of  the  joists  be  removed.  The  ball  had 
not  injured  any  of  the  vital  parts,  and  he  had  had  the 
best  of  medical  advice,  and  yet  the  wound  would  not 
heal.  And  when  it  began  at  last  to  look  a  little  better, 
very  grave  symptoms  of  pulmonary  disease  in  an  ad- 
vanced stage  had  suddenly  shown  themselves.  The 
physicians  who  were  called  in  shook  their  heads,  spoke 
of  the  necessity  of  a  change  of  air,  and  a  longer  resi- 
dence in  a  southern  climate. 

But  Felix  refused  to  see  what  was  very  clear  to  all 
others.  Those  little  scars.? — why,  I  have  been  spotted 
very  differently  before.  That  little  fever.? — ridiculous; 
I  have  felt  worse  many  a  morning  after  a  wild  night. 
My  lungs  ? — nonsense  !  What  does  that  old  wig,  Bal- 
thasar,  know  of  my  lungs  ?  I  don't  believe  in  wise  wigs. 
Felix  Grenwitz  Avont  die  so  easily ! 

Perhaps  it  was  a  desire  to  confirm  himself  in  this 
conviction  which  made  the  bon  vivant  attempt  to  suc- 
ceed in  the  part  of  a  lover  as  soon  as  he  was  allowed  to 


I 


Through  Night  to  Light.  279 

leave  his  room  again  after  several  weeks'  confinement 
with  a  diet  of  medicine  and  mucilage.  He  had  looked 
upon  neat,  pretty,  blue-eyed  Madeline,  as  soon  as  he  had 
seen  her,  as  a  rose-bud  which  it  might  be  worth  his 
while  to  gather,  and  he  would  have  made  some  efforts 
in  that  direction  long  since  if  Albert  had  not,  for  very 
good  reasons,  dissuaded  him  earnestly.  Besides,  he  had 
then  not  given  up  the  hope  of  winning  the  fair  Helen, 
and  liis  eyes  had  been  captivated  for  a  time  by  her  ex- 
ceedingly pretty  maid,  Louisa.  Now,  when  those  hopes 
were  gone,  he  found  in  the  monotony  of  his  convales- 
cence the  necessary  leisure  and  ample  opportunity  to 
turn  his  attention  towards  little  Marguerite.  Felix 
Grenwitz  knew  only  two  classes  of  women :  pretty 
women  and  ugly  women;  any  other  division,  virtuous 
women  and  others,  he  did  not  admit.  He  did  not  believe 
in  female  virtue  ;  he  had  never  met  with  it ;  at  most,  ca- 
price, coquettish  cunning,  and  the  art  to  enhance  the 
value  of  the  merchandise  so  as  to  induce  the  buyer  to 
pay  the  highest  price.  Hence  Felix  Grenwitz  did  not 
believe  that  Marguerite  was  virtuous,  and  this  all  the  less 
as  this  experienced  man  soon  discovered  that "  Mamselle  " 
had  carried  on  a  love  affair  with  Mr.  Surveyor  Timm 
Avhile  the  masters  were  at  the  watering  place.  Timm 
thought  about  women  just  as  he  did  himself,  as  Felix 
knew  perfectly  well ;  he  had  therefore  won  the  game 
even  before  beginning  it.  Could  Felix  Grenwitz  fail 
where  Albert  Timm  had  succeeded  .''  Nevertheless,  there 
was  another  item  in  the  bill  which  he  had  overlooked,  and 
the  Don  Giovanni  was  not  a  little  surprised,  therefore, 
Avhen  he  failed  after  all.  Little  Marguerite  had  a  soft 
heart,  thirsting  after  love,  and  she  had  so  small  a  share 
of  love  alloted  her  in  life !  Hence  Albert  Timm  had 
been  able  to  overcome  the  heart  of  the  girl,  but  not  her 
virtue.  For  little  Marguerite  was  proud — proud  as  poor 
beings  are  who  have  been  enslaved  and  ill-treated  from 
childhood  up  without  losing  their  native  nobility,  and 
whose  only  defence  against  the  contempt  of  the  world 
lies  in  their  self-respect.  She  would  have  sacrificed  for 
her  lover  the  whole  of  her  hard-earned  little  fortune, 
but   nothina:  else.     If  Albert  could   not  succeed  who 


28o  Through  Night  to  Light. 

really  loved  her,  Felix  must  of  course  fail,  for  she  de- 
tested him.  And  yet  he  was  not  fastidious  in  the  means 
he  employed.  He  presented  Albert  to  her  in  the  dark- 
est colors;  he  laughed  at  the  poor  girl,  that  she  had  al- 
lowed herself  to  be  cheated  by  a  man  who  wanted 
nothing  but  her  few  hundred  dollars;  a  man  who  for 
money  would  do  anything,  and  who  would  yet  gamble 
away  in  a  single  night  all  the  money  he  might  have  se- 
cured by  fair  means  or  by  fovil  means.  He  effected  by 
this  description,  which  was  unfortunately  not  untrue  in 
its  main  features,  nothing  but  that  the  little  one  said 
with  flaming  eyes  and  deep-red  cheeks  in  her  broken 
German:  "And  if  Monsieur  Albert  is  really  a  bad  man, 
you  are  not  any  better  by  a  hair.  Monsieur  le  Baroti  !  " 
Poor  child !  she  was  soon  to  become  fully  aware  that 
Monsieur  Albert  and  Monsieur  le  Baron  were  really  of  pre- 
cisely the  same  value  !  She  had  been  in  the  adjoining 
room  when  Felix  and  Albert  Timm  had  been  holding 
their  conversation,  and  she  had  felt  as  if  she  ought  to 
sink  into  the  ground  for  shame  and  indignation  when 
she  heard  how  the  two  gentlemen  bargained  so  uncere- 
moniously for  her  virtue,  as  if  they  had  bargained  for  a 
horse.  To  dispel  every  doubt  as  to  what  she  had  only 
half  understood,  she  had  managed  to  meet  Mr.  Timm 
when  he  left  the  baron  in  the  ante-room.  Here  she  had 
asked  him,  hot-blooded  as  she  was,  about  the  matter, 
and  received  an  answer  which  caused  her  to  be  bathed 
in  tears,  when  Mr.  Bemperlein  came  in  a  few  minutes 
later. 

Felix,  however,  was  content  to  have  driven  off  his 
most  dangerous  rival,  and  did  not  pursue  his  advantage 
for  the  present.  The  whole  affair  had  become  too  se- 
rious for  his  taste  for  one  thing,  and  then  another 
business  was  just  now  claiming  his  whole  attention. 
His  health  had  become  so  much  worse  during  the  last 
days  that  even  his  frivolity  could  no  longer  make  him 
blind  to  the  imminence  of  actual  danger.  The  wounds, 
but  half  healed,  opened  once  more  ;  a  slow  fever  under- 
mined his  nervous  system  by  day  and  by  niglit,  and  he 
had  hardly  fallen  asleep  when  a  hacking  cough  waked 
him   from    dreams   so   fearful   that   even    sleeplessness 


Through  Night  to  Light.  281 

seemed  a  benefit  in  comparison.  The  anxiety  about  his 
health  was  increased  by  other  cares  which  he  had  for- 
merly treated  yery  lightly,  but  which  now  had  a  sad 
eflfect  upon  hi^  hypochondriac  temper,  and  confused 
and  troubled  him  sorely.  People  would  crowd  into  his 
bed-chamber  who  would  not  be  refused  admittance  by 
his  servants  —  people  with  odd  faces  and  remarkably 
soiled  linen,  who  had  no  sooner  succeeded  in  making 
their  way  to  his  bed-side  than  they  opened  large  pocket- 
books  and  presented  the  baron  with  a  little  bit  of  a  note 
"  for  two  hundred  or  three  hundred  dollars — a  mere  trifle 
for  the  baron." 

Perhaps  the  baron  avouM  haye  been  able  to  redeem 
these  ominous  papers  if  he  had  been  what  he  had  hoped 
to  be  when  he  adorned  them  with  his  signature  :  the  ac- 
knowledged affianced  of  Helen,  and  the  son-in-law  of 
the  richest  landowner  of  the  proyince.  But  unfortu- 
nately he  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  had  no 
prospect  of  becoming  such,  and  could  therefore  not  be 
very  much  astonished  if  the  baroness  was  less  gracious 
every  time  she  met  one  of  these  suspicious  person- 
ages. It  had  been  diff'erent  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  the 
sun  of  his  invincible  power  of  charming  was  still  in  the 
zenith.  Felix  knew  perfectly  Avell  that  his  aunt  was  so 
liberal  only,  in  spite  of  her  natural  disposition,  because 
she  knew  him  to  be  in  possession  of  a  grave  family 
secret.  But  even  this  last  tie,  which  could  be  replaced 
by  no  other,  was  hanging  on  a  single  thread. 

For  he  could  not  doubt  that  it  was  only  the  fear  of 
"  the  stupid  honesty  of  the  baron  " — the  identical  words  of 
his  amiable  wife — which  kept  her  from  bringing  matters 
to  a  crisis  in  lier  conflict  with  Albert  Timm,  and  Felix 
was  by  no  means  quite  sure  whether  even  this  fear  was 
likely  to  induce  her  to  assent  to  the  bargain  which  he 
had  made  with  Albert  in  her  name.  He  had,  therefore, 
not  dared  yet  to  tell  her  the  full  amount  for  which  he 
had  purchased  Albert's  silence. 

His  timidity  in  the  whole  business  had  a  very  good 
motive  in  his  critical  situation.  He  had  to  keep  his 
aunt  in  the  best  possible  humor  in  order  to  obtain  from 
her  the  sums  he  required  for  his  personal  wants.     It 


282  Through  Night  to  Light. 

would  be  time  enough  hereafter  to  enlighten  her  on 
the  subject  of  Timm's  demand.  Felix  hated  Oswald  in- 
tensely, and  it  would  have  been  intolerable  to  him  to  see 
the  hated  man  obtain  possession  of  the  large  fortune 
with  Albert's  aid,  and  perhaps  after  awhile  also  of  Helen's 
hand ;  but  all  that  had  to  give  way  for  the  present  to 
the  imperative  necessities  of  his  position. 

This  was  the  condition  of  things  when  the  baroness 
came  on  the  morning  after  the  party,  where  Felix  of 
course  had  not  been  able  to  be  present,  to  pay  the 
patient  a  visit,  after  having  been  ceremoniously  an- 
nounced. Felix  was  wrapped  up  in  a  large  dressing 
gown,  and  sat  shivering  close  to  the  stove.  His  big  eyes, 
once  so  supercilious,  and  now  glassy  and  staring,  and 
the  sickly,  well-defined  red  spot  on  his  lean  cheeks,  bore 
Avitness  to  the  rapid  progress  which  the  disease  had 
made  during  the  last  days.  He  rose,  somewhat  aston- 
ished at  such  a  visit  at  so  unusual  an  hour,  half  from  his 
chair,  and  offered-his  aunt  his  thin,  feverish  hand. 

'■'■  Bon  jour  y  ma  ta7ite  !  must  I  say,  so  early  or  so  late? 
for  you  have  been  dancing  till  very  recently.  I  heard 
the  bass  violin  all  the  way  down  to  my  room  here  :  brm  ! 
brm  !  brm  !  until  it  nearly  made  me  crazy ;  and  if  you 
had  not  cured  me  of  cursing,  my  dear  aunt,  I  could  have 
wished  the  accursed  creature  who  made  all  the  tantrum 
down  to  the  deepest  place  in " 

"  I  hope  your  health  is  not  worse  to-day  than  your 
cursing,"  said  Anna  Maria,  smiling.  She  settled  down 
in  an  arm-chair  before  the  patient,  and  took  out  some 
work  as  an  evidence  that  she  intended  to  pay  a  long 
visit.  "  But  seriously  speaking,  dear  Felix,  I  have  been 
sorry  for  you,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  your  pardon  for 
the  interruption." 

"  Why,  you  are  prodigiously  gracious  to-day,  7na 
tante  !  " 

"  I  thought  I  always  was  so,"  replied  Anna  Maria  ; 
"  only  there  are  people  who  will  never  be  persuaded  of  it." 

"  I  am  not  one  of  them,  dear  aunt." 

"  I  know  it,  Felix ;  and  I  trust  you  will  acknowledge 
that  I  have  always  done  for  you  whatever  Avas  in  my 
power." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  283 

"Yes  indeed;  yes  indeed!"  murmured  Felix,  reflecting 
whether  this  was  a  favorable  moment  to  mention  to  his 
aunt  a  little  affair  in  which  he  was  involved — now  nearly 
three  months — with  a  certain  Mr.  Wolfson,  of  the  firm 
of  Wolfson,  Reinike  &  Co.,  and  which  had  to  be  settled 
in  a  few  days. 

"  The  company — who,  however,  broke  up  punctually 
at  a  quarter  past  two,  dear  Felix — seemed  to  enjoy  them- 
selves very  much,"  continvied  the  baroness,  "and  I  was 
heartily  sorry  that  you  could  not  be  there.  It  is  really 
high  time  you  should  report  yourself  well  again." 

"  God  knows  !  "  sighed  the  patient,  impatiently  tossing 
about  in  his  arm-chair,  "  I  am  turning  a  perfect  hypo- 
chondriac in  this  hole.  But  tell  me  something  about 
yesterday.     Who  was  there  .''  " 

"  Oh,  not  a  great  many ;  you  know  I  do  not  like  very 
large  parties  :  Grieben,  Nadlitz,  Barnewitz,  Cloten " 

"  That  is  not  a  bad  arrangement  of  names,"  said  Fe- 
lix. "  Did  not  Hortense  and  Clotilde  scratch  each  other's 
eyes  out } " 

"  Oh,  no  !  they  are  the  best  friends  in  the  world  ;  and 
besides,  yesterday  they  had  no  reason  to  dispute  each 
other  the  palm,  as  that  had  been  decided  before  by  the 
unanimous  judgment  of  the  whole  company." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !     And  who  was  this  bird  Phoenix.?  " 

"  Your  cousin,  dear  Felix,"  said  the  baroness,  count- 
ing the  stitches  in  hftr  work  ;  "  she  looked  really  mag- 
nificent last  night.  I  was  quite  surprised  myself;  but 
she  was  universally  admired." 

Felix  listened  attentively.  To  hear  Helen  praised  by 
her  mother  was  such  a  new  air  that  he  did  not  tru^t  his 
ears. 

"  It  looks  as  if  the  last  weeks — five,  six,  seven — had, 
after  all,  had  a  very  happy  effect  upon  her.  She  has — 
eight,  nine,  ten — lost  a  good  deal  of  her  haughtiness ; 
the  Countess  Grieben  congratulated  me  on  her  modest, 
truly  womanly  manners." 

"Pardon  me,  dear  aunt,"  said  Felix,  most  bitterly; 
"  but  I  can  hardly  rejoice  as  much  as  you  at  this  favora- 
ble change.  I  wish  it  had  taken  place  a  few  weeks  be- 
fore.    Perhaps  I  should  then  not  be  lying  here  helpless, 


284  Through  Night  to  Light. 

like  a  horse  who  has  been  hamstrung;"  and  he  struck 
the  arm  of  his  chair  violently  with  his  sound  hand. 

"  I  know  you  have  some  reason  to  complain  of  Helen," 
said  the  baroness ;  "  but  hatred  and  revenge  are  very  un- 
christian feelings,  especially  between  relatives,  whom 
nature  has  ordained  for  mutual  love." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  interrupted  Felix.  "You  are  per- 
fectly right,  dear  aunt !  Our  whole  plan  was  built 
upon  that  supposition.  What  a  pity,  though,  that  Miss 
Helen  did  not  care  at  all  for  this  Christian  love  for  our 
relatives !  " 

"  You  are  bitter,  Felix  ;  and,  as  I  said  before,  I  admit 
that  you  wa>' complain.  But  let  us  talk  now  of  the  mat- 
ter that  brought  me  here  so  early  in  the  morning.  The 
state  of  your  health,  dear  Felix,  causes  me  so  great  con- 
cern that  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all  last  night,  and 
now  I  have  formed  a  plan.  You  mvxst  start,  and  as 
soon  as  possible,  on  your  trip  to  Italy." 

Felix  was  destined  to-day  to  pass  from  one  astonish- 
ment into  another.  The  physicians  had  advised  this  trip 
urgently  for  a  fortnight ;  Anna  Maria  had  opposed  it  as 
strenuously,  because  neither  Felix,  as  she  thought,  nor 
she  herself  could  at  that  moment  afford  to  provide  the 
necessary  means.  All  of  a  sudden  these  means  were 
forthcoming  !  All  who  knew  the  consistency  of  the 
baroness  must  have  known  that  only  a  very  extraordin- 
ary reason  could  have  produced  so  sudden  a  change  in 
her  views. 

What  this  reason  was  Felix  did  not  learn  in  the  fur- 
ther course  of  the  conversation.  He  did  not  care  par- 
ticularly to  know  it.  The  last  days  and  nights,  full  of 
pain,  had  broken  his  spirit ;  the  frivolous  haughtiness 
which  he  had  so  far  boastingly  exhibited  had  given 
way  to  mournful  nervousness,  in  which  but  one  thought 
remained  uppermost — the  desire  to  be  well  again  at  any 
cost.  For  this  great  purpose  any  means  were  welcome. 
If  his  aunt  was  willing  to  furnish  the  means  for  his 
travels,  which  he  knew  were  indispensable  for  his  recov- 
ery, well ! — and  all  the  better,  the  more  she  gave  !  Why 
she  gave — why  she  gave  now,  after  having  declared  it 
only  a  few  days  before  utterly  impossible  to  raise  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  285 

means — what  did  he  care  for  that  ?  No  more  than  a 
man  who  is  in  danger  of  drowning  inqviires  from  whence 
the  saving  log  comes  swimming  down  to  which  he 
clings  at  the  very  last  moment. 

When  the  baroness  rose  an  hour  later  and  folded  up 
her  work,  the  Italian  journey  was  a  settled  matter. 
Felix  was,  if  his  condition  did  not  grow  worse,  to  start 
in  a  few  days.  "  You  know,  dear  Felix,"  said  Anna 
Maria,  "  I  am  in  favor  of  doing  promptly  what  has  to  be 
done.  And  here  there  is  danger  in  delay ;  besides,  I 
should  forever  reproach  myself  bitterly  if  I  had  not 
done  whatever  was  in  my  feeble  power  to  avert  this 
threatening  danger  from  you." 

She  offered  him  kindly  her  bony  hand,  and  Felix 
kissed  it  reverently.     Anna  Maria  then  left  the  room. 

"  The  old  dragon,"  grumbled  Felix,  sinking  back 
exhausted ;  "  what  can  have  gotten  into  her  head  to 
make  her  all  of  a  sudden  so  liberal.?  How  lucky  I  did 
not  tell  her  how  much  that  rascal  Timm  is  asking  for ! 
She  will  have  to  hear  it  one  of  these  days;  but  not 
before  I  am  down  in  Italy.  Oh  !  my  arm  !  I  must  sub- 
mit to  a  regular  cure;  and,  after  all,  every  man  is  his  own 
nearest  neighbor." 

"  The  foolish  fellow,"  thought  Anna  Maria,  as  she 
slowly  walked  back  to  her  room  through  the  long  pas- 
sages ;  ''  it  is  hard  that  I  have  to  go  to  such  fearful  ex- 
pense after  having  paid  so  much  for  him  already.  But 
it  cannot  be  helped.  He  must  leave  the  house,  and  this 
is  the  most  respectable  and  the  least  noisy  way  to  get 
rid  of  him." 

The  explanation  of  the  generosity  of  the  baroness  was 
very  simple.  The  ambitious  thought  that  her  daughter 
had  at  least  as  much  prospect  to  become  the  wife  of 
the  prince  as  any  other  lady,  had  been  so  much  encour- 
aged last  night  during  the  party  that  it  had  grown  up 
into  a  well-built  plan.  The  prince  had  distinguished 
Helen  in  the  most  ilattering  manner.  He  had  not  only, 
against  all  rules,  danced  twice  with  her,  but  he  had, 
besides,  borrowed  her  from  her  regular  dancer  as  often 
as  an  opportunity  offered  ;  he  had  led  her  to  supper,  and 
during  the  whole  evening  not  lost  sight  of  her  for  a 


286  Through  Night  to  Light. 

moment ;  he  had,  finally,  spoken  in  the  most  exalted 
terms  of  the  incomparable  beavity  of  the  young  baroness 
to  the  Countess  Grieben,  who  had  reported  his  words 
five  minutes  later  to  the  baroness.  All  this  was  the  more 
striking  as  the  cool  reserve  with  which  that  grand  seig- 
neur generally  received  all  the  homage  offered  him  by 
the  provincial  nobility  had  already  become  proverbial. 
What  was  poor  Felix  in  comparison  with  this  proud 
eagle  ?  ^A  poor  crow,  plucked  bare  by  misfortune  and 
countless  creditors.  And  especially  now  since  the 
physicians  began  to  shake  their  heads  ominously,  and 
when  the  baroness  asked  them  upon  their  consciences, 
answered  :  they  would  give  the  young  baron  six  months, 
unless  a  miracle  took  place  !  What  was  Felix  when  he 
ceased  to  be  the  presumptive  heir  to  the  entailed  estates .'' 
Nothing! — less  than  nothing;  a  very  expensive  pen- 
sioner on  the  bounty  of  the  family,  whose  only  merit  was 
that  he  would  in  all  probability  not  draw  that  pension 
long !  No,  no !  That  sun  had  set  in  mist  and  fogs ; 
now  a  more  brilliant,  a  more  powerful  sun  must  give  its 
light.  It  was  worth  while  to  become  the  mother-in-law 
of  His  Highness  Prince  Waldenberg.  Then  the  obsti- 
nate, intolerably  obstinate  old  husband  might  die  to-day 
or  to-morrow,  and  the  executors  were  welcome  to  add 
the  revenues  from  the  estates,  which  now  belonged  to 
her,  to  the  principal.  She  had  laid  aside  enough,  thanks 
to  her  wise  economy ;  and  then  there  was  the  very  re- 
spectable sum  of  Harald's  legacy,  which  that  impudent 
fellow,  Timm,  would  no  longer  dare  to  trouble  her 
.about.  And  suppose  even  that  the  baron  should  leave 
Helen  the  greater  part  of  his  fortune,  which  seemed 
very  probable,  the  gratitude  of  a  princely  son-in-law  to 
whom  she  had  given  so  beautiful  a  wife,  and  of  a  daughter 
to  whom  she  had  given  a  princely  husband,  was  in  itself 
a  capital  that  must  bring  ample  interest. 

Strange  !  from  the  moment  in  which  this  brilliant  per- 
spective had  opened  for  Helen  she  had  nO  longer  felt 
any  resentment  against  the  rebellious  child.  Even  her 
pride,  of  which  she  had  so  bitterly  complained,  now  ap- 
peared to  her  eyes  as  a  merit  in  the  girl.  Was  not  this 
very  haughtiness,  together   with    the  beauty  which   it 


Through  Night  to  Light.  287 

served  to  bring  out  more  strikingly,  that  feature  which 
had  evidently  decided  the  prince  to  give  the  preference 
to  her  daughter  over  other  young  ladies  like  that  very 
beautiful  but  blonde  and  sentimental  Miss  Nadelitz,  and 
even  over  pretty,  coquettish  Emily  Cloten,  and  graceful, 
intriguing  Hortense  Barnewitz  ?  The  baroness  actually 
felt,  ever  since  two  days  ago,  some  affection  for  her 
daughter — her  beautiful,  brilliant  daughter — who  had  by 
her  prudent  management  the  bright  dazzling  prospect  of 
becoming  Princess  Waldenberg-Malikowsky,  Countess 
of  Letbus ! 

Tlie  first  step  towards  this  lofty  goal  was  of  course 
a  full  reconciliation  with  Helen.  The  catastrophe  at 
Grenwitz  had  taught  her  to  respect  an  adversary  who 
was  able  to  act  with  so  much  firmness  in  spite  of  her 
youth.  ,  Henceforth  she  would  see  "if  she  could  not  suc- 
ceed better  with  love  and  kindness  ;  and  how  could  she 
better  prove  this  love  and  kindness  than  by  recalling 
the  disobedient  and  yet  cherished  child  from  her  banish- 
ment back  again  (if  only  Felix  would  go  quickly  !)  to 
the  paternal  house,  to  the  dear  parents  who  impatiently 
expected  their  beloved  daughter!  She  had  immediately 
begun  this  great  work  of  reconciliation;  this  very  day 
she  hoped  to  finish  the  preliminaries. 

It  was  a  late  hour  on  that  day.  The  windows  in  Miss 
Bear's  boarding-school  had  been  darkened  for  two 
hours,  except  one  which  looked  upon  the  garden  in 
the  rear.  He  who  could  have  watched  this  window 
from  the  garden,  or  from  the  public  park  which  ad- 
joined the  garden — and  there  was  really  a  young  man 
leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  beech-tree  whose  eyes 
were  incessantly  directed  through  the  dense  darkness 
towards  the  lighted  window — might  have  seen  that  the 
light  came  from  a  lamp  which  was  standing  quite  near 
it  on  an  escritoire,  and  that  the  occupant  of  the  room 
was  sitting  at  the  escritoire  writing  or  reading  ;  it  could 
not  be  distinguished. 

The  occupant  of  the  room  was  Helen  Grenwitz.  She 
was  writing  eagerly,  with  burning  cheeks,  as  young  la- 
dies who  have  no  confidant  but  a  friend  hundreds  of 
miles  away  are  apt  to  write  : 


2  88  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  You  quiet,  prudent  girl,  with  your  quiet,  prudent  blue 
eyes  !  Ah,  who  could  pass  through  life  as  you  do,  ever 
true  to  one's  self.  Who  could  have  your  peace  of  soul, 
in  which  everything  is  reflected,  as  in  a  deep  still  lake, 
in  clear  colors  and  sharp  outlines  !  Whatever  you  think 
right  to-day,  you  think  so  to-morrow ;  what  you  like 
to-day,  you  will  not  dislike  to-morrow.  The  standard 
by  which  you  measure  men  is  unchangeably  the  same, 
though  severe  ;  he  who  does  not  come  up  to  it  is  not 
your  equal  in  your  mind,  and  you  treat  him  accordingly, 
to-morrow  as  to-day,  and  every  other  day,  with  that  mild 
kindness  for  which  I  have  so  often  envied  you.  With 
me,  alas !  everything  is  diff'erent — so  very  different !  My 
heart  is  a  storm-tossed  ocean,  and  the  images  of  life 
tremble  in  it,  changing  and  restless,  and  troubling  me 
like  so  many  spectres.  On  the  surface,  to  be  sure — well, 
there  all  is  apparently  calm ;  at  least  people  say  so,  and 
I  feel  so  ;  but  down  below ! — there  it  seethes  and  boils  ; 
there  are  wishes  growing  up  which  I  dare  scarcely  con- 
fess to  myself;  there  thoughts  are  rising  that  frighten  me ; 
there  a  longing  is  forever  blooming — a  longing  of  which 
I  have  often  told  you,  and  alas!  never  in  words  equal 
to  what  I  really  feel,  and  which  you  always  sent  back 
into  the  realm  of  dreams,'  Is  it  possible  that  you  were 
right .''  that  the  passion  which  is  glowing  within  me 
is  never  to  be  cooled .?  that  the  voice  which  often  calls 
from  the  depth  of  my  soul  in  every  still  night,  as  just 
now,  full  of  complaint,  of  yearning,  of  despair — that 
this  voice  is  never  to  find  an  echo  .''  My  brow  is  burn- 
ing, my  eyes  are  blinded,  my  heart  beats  impatiently  ! 
What  do  you  want,  restless,  wild  heart! — Love.'  Yes! 
Power,  and  honor,  and  distinction.?  Yes!  But  how,  if 
you  cannot  have  all  at  once;  if  you  must  sacrifice  the 
one  or  the  other! — how  then .?  Which  are  you  willing 
to  give  up.?  Love.?  No!  High  rank.?  No!  Oh  no  ! 
....  Well  then !  beat  on  restless  and  unsatisfied,  and 
trouble  me  without  pity,  till  this  hand  and  this  head  shall 
be  tired  of  counting  your  feverish  pulsations! 

"  I  see  you  looking  at  me  expectantly,  with  your  soft, 
blue  eyes  ;  I  see  your  lips  trembling  with  the  question  : 
What  is  the  matter,  dearest.?     Oh,  dearest  darling,  w« 


Through  Night  to  Light.  28q 

are  to  tell  me  !  For  some  time  now,  I  do  not  know  my- 
self any  longer. 

"  I  wrote  you  that  I  saw  Mr.  S.  accidentally  from 
mv  window,  and  that  I  wished  very  much  to  see  him 
alone.  My  wish  was  to  be  fulfilled  the  same  day.  I 
met  him  at  Miss  R's,  and  as  my  servant  did  not  come 
for  me  he  accompanied  me  home.  We  had  a  conversa- 
tion on  the  way  which  affected  me  deeply,  as  it  turned 
on  Bruno,  and  I  had,  at  last,  an  opportunity  of  thanking 
Mr.  S.,  as  I  had  so  long  desired  to  do.  I  was  deeply 
moved  when  he  took  leave  of  me  at  the  door.  The 
charm  which  this  man  has  always  had  for  me,  and  which 
I  can  only  shake  off  when  I  do  not  see  or  hear  anything 
of  him,  had  become  once  more  all-powerful  in  his  pres- 
ence. I  felt  it ;  and  yet,  just  on  that  account — you  know 
me — I  did  not  avoid  seeing  him  again,  although  I  might 
easily  have  done  so. 

"  Two  evenings  later  I  met  him  again,  also  at  Miss  R's. 
This  time  the  servant  was  behind  us  as  we  went  home, 
but  as  we  spoke  French — Mr.  S.  speaks  it  beautifully ; 
he  told  me  he  was  half  French  by  descent — our  conver- 
sation was  as  free  as  if  we  had  been  alone.  What  the 
two  days'  absence  had  set  right,  two  hours'  intercourse 
destroyed  again,  and  I  found  out  to  my  great  humilia- 
tion— and  I  write  it  with  blushing  cheeks — that  the  feel- 
ing which  overcomes  me  when  he  is  near  is  stronger 
than  my  pride.  Not  that  he  is  so  imposing  by  his  lofty 
mind  or  by  his  male  strength  !  Far  from  it.  He  does 
not  resemble  the  ideal  which  I  bear  in  my  heart  of  the 
hero  whom  I  might  love;  but  there  is  something  in  the 
tone  of  his  voice,  in  the  glance  of  his  large  blue  eyes,  in 
his  whole  manner,  which  touches  me  unspeakably. 
And  then — I  mean  to  be  candid  with  you — I  know  that 
he  loves  me,  and,  as  it  cannot  be  otherwise  under  the 
circumstances,  loves  me  without  hope,  and  that  makes 
him  dear  to  me,  like  the  dagger  with  the  bright  Damas- 
cus blade  and  the  golden  handle  which  I  found,  a  girl 
of  twelve,  in  the  armory  at  Grenwitz,  and  which  I  then 
took  as  a  precious  treasure  to  my  room,  and  never  have 
allowed  to  pass  away  again  into  other  hands.  I  know 
— Oswald  and  the  dagger  —  both  belong  to  me;  to  me 
13 


290  Through  Night  to  Light. 

alone.  It  is  so  exquisitely  sweet  to  be  able  to  call 
something  one's  own  of  which  nobody  else  knows  any- 
thing, nobody  suspects  anything,  and  which  is  still  sui'e 
to  stand  by  us,  and  to  assist  us  in  extremity,  when  all  oth- 
ers shall  have  abandoned  us.  Whenever  I  see  Oswald's 
eyes  fixed  upon  me  I  feel  as  if  I  were  drawing  the  dag- 
ger half-way  from  the  sheath  and  saw  the  blade  glitter 
in  the  sunlight. 

"  But  there  is  danger  in  this  glittering.  How  often 
have  I  drawn  out  the  weapon  entirely,  and,  placing  the 
sharp  point  upon  my  heart,  said  to  myself:  a  slight 
pressure  and  you  are  no  more !  And  there  is  danger 
in  the  presence  of  this  man ;  a  word  from  him,  and  he 
has  ceased  to  live  for  me ;  and  if  I  were  weak  enough  to 
reply  —  I  dare  not  think  of  it ;  I  dare  not  think  how 
near  I  have  already  been  standing  to  the  abyss. 

"  I  have  determined  not  to  go  any  more  to  Miss  R's, 
and  I  have  carried  out  my  determination.  Day  before 
yesterda}^  towards  evening,  when  I  Avas  alone  in  the 
garden — the  others  were  walking  out  as  usually  with 
Miss  Bear  as  leader — I  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea  so 
distinctly  that  I  felt  an  invincible  desire  to  see  my  fa- 
vorite element  once  more  eye  to  eye.  Our  garden  adjoins 
a  public  park  which'  extends  down  to  the  sea-shore.  It 
belongs  to  the  city,  and  is,  T  am  told,  a  popular  prome- 
nade in  the  summer.  In  autumn,  however,  and  es- 
pecially in  the  evening,  when  it  is  damp  and  cool,  I  had 
never  seen  anybody  in  the  wide  avenues  under  the  tall 
trees.  I  opened,  therefore,  the  gate,  which  was  not 
locked,  and  went  into  the  park.  It  was  darker  there 
than  in  the  garden  ;  the  evening  breeze  was  sighing  in 
the  bare  branches  of  the  mighty  beech-trees ;  the  sea 
roared  grandly.  Beneath  my  feet  the  dry  leaves  were 
rustling;  overhead  two  crows  Afere  cawing,  unable  to 
find  rest  on  the  storm-tossed  branches.  I  wrapped  my- 
self closer  in  my  shawl  and  went  on.  The  darkness  was 
coming  on  apace,  and  the  cool,  damp  breath  of  the 
woods  and  the  sea  brought  their  old  cliarm  to  bear 
upon  me,  as  I  had  felt  it  so  often  in  early  childhood.  I 
felt  no  fear;  the  happiness  to  be  for  once  perfectly  alone 
with    myself  and  my  thoughts — alone  amid  such  sur- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  291 

roundings,  which  entirely  harmonized  with  my  state  of 
mind — did  not  allow  such  feelings  to  rise  in  me.  I  went 
on  and  on,  as  in  a  dream,  till  I  came  to  the  end  of  the  ave- 
nue. There  a  small  open  square,  almost  entirely  over- 
shadowed by  tall  trees,  looks  in  one  direction  towards 
the  sea,  which  breaks  almost  directly  upon  the  moderately 
high  but  steep  shore.  An  iron  railing  runs  along  the 
edge.  There  are  benches  here  for  the  tired  visitor,  and 
for  all  who  wish  to  enjoy  the  coolness  of  the  place  and  the 
view  over  the  sea.  I  was  leaning  on  the  railing  and  look- 
ing out  upon  the  dark  waste  of  waters,  bright  in  its  way 
amid  the  darkness,  and  I  saw  wave  follow  wave  without 
rest  and  breaking  into  foam  upon  the  smooth  pebbles  of 
the  narrow  beach.  The  thunder,  which  drowned  every 
other  noise,  was  like  a  nursery  song  for  my  stormy 
heart,  and  lulled  me  to  dream  wonderfully  of  happi- 
ness deep  and  boundless,  like  the  deep,  boundless  sea,  on 
whose  fading  horizon  my  eyes  were  hanging,  and — would 
happiness  else  have  any  charms  for  me .''  —  of  fearful 
mysteries  and  unforeseen  dangers. 

"  Suddenly  a  voice  fell  upon  my  ear  from  quite  near 
by.  I  rose  from  my  stooping  position,  and  Mr.  S.  was 
standing  before  me. 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,'  he  said,  '  if  I  interrupt  you  in 
pleasant  dreams ;  but  the  accident  Avhich  made  me  find 
you  here  at  this  hour  is  too  remarkable  to  be  looked 
upon  as  nothing  more  than  a  mere  accident.' 

"  I  was  so  surprised  and  frightened  by  this  sudden 
meeting — and  I  suddenly  saw  how  very  improper  the 
step  was — that  I  replied  coldly  and  sharply  : 

"  'How  do  you  mean,  fcir.^  I  hope  it  is  really  an  acci- 
dent only  which  procures  me  at  this  moment  the  plea- 
sure of  your  company  } ' 

*'  He  stepped  back  a  step. 

"'  Pardon  me.  Miss  Helen,'  he  said,  '  I  did  not  know 
you  objected  to  my  presence.' 

"  He  bowed,  and  went  away. 

"  The  tone  in  which  he  had  uttered  these  words  cut 
me  to  the  heart.  When  he  was  a  few  yards  ofl",  I  could 
not  bear  it  any  longer.  I  called  his  name.  The  next 
moment  he  was  again  by  my  side. 


292  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  *  Mr.  S.,'  I  said,  '  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  frightened. 
I  did  not  know  what  I  was  saying.' 

" '  No,  no  !  '  he  replied.  '  You  were  quite  right.  It  is 
not  an  accident  which  has  made  us  meet  here.  At  least 
not  on  my  side.  I  saw  you  enter  the  park  ;  I  followed 
you  ;  I  did  not  lose  sight  of  you  for  an  instant.' 

" '  And  do  you  often  come  here .'' '  I  inquired,  as  we  be- 
gan to  walk  back  the  dark  avenue. 

"  *  Yes,'  he  replied;  '  the  unhappy  find  in  darkness  and 
solitude  their  most  suitable  companions.' 

"  I  did  not  have  the  courage  to  ask  him  why  he  was 
unhappy ;  we  went  on  side  by  side  in  deep  silence.  I 
hastened  my  steps,  for  the  old  charm  was  creeping  over 
me  and  I  was  determined  to  escape.  A  few  minutes 
brought  us  to  the  iron  gate  which  leads  from  the  gar- 
den into  the  park.  Among  the  shrubbery  and  under  the 
tall  trees  it  was  quite  dark.  My  heart  beat  as  if  it  would 
burst.  I  was  determined,  should  it  cost  me  my  life,  to 
reject  his  love,  if  he  should  begin  to  speak  of  love  ;  and 
still  I  wished  him  to  speak  ;  I  was  angry  because  he  did 
not  speak.  The  few  seconds  seemed  to  be  an  eternity — 
an  eternity  of  fear  and  hope.  We  were  standing  at  the 
door.  Oswald  opened  it.  I  thanked  him,  and  wished 
him  good-night.  He  only  answered  by  a  silent  bow. 
When  the  door  fell  behind  me  into  the  lock  I  started 
like  a  prisoner  who  hears  the  door  of  his  cell  close  be- 
hind him  which  parts  him  forever  from  life.  At  first  I 
felt  like  stretching  my  hand  after  him  throvigli  the  grat- 
ins:  and  telling-  him — I  know  not  what ;  but  I  checked 
myself  and  went,  without  looking  back,  rapidly  up  to 
the  house ;  and  when  I  had  reached  my  room  I  threw 
myself  on  the  sofa,  and  I  wept  bitterly,  bitterly — as  I  had 
never  wept  before  in  my  life — as  I  did  not  think  Helen 
Grenwitz  would  ever  be  able  to  weep  ! 

"  But  then  I  rose  and  swore  I  would  overcome  this 
weakness,  which  was  so  humiliating,  at  any  risk  and  ex- 
pense. My  pride,  I  felt  it,  is  my  only  property — the 
bright  weapon  which  makes  me,  when  I  hold  it  in  my 
hand,  the  equal  of  any  adversary,  even  of  my  mother! 
I  thought  with  trembling  of  the  moment  when  I  siiould 
feel  humiliated  before  myself  after  having  humiliated 


Through  Night  to  Light.  293 

myself  before  others ;  when  I  should  no  longer  be  able 
to  look  boldly  into  her  cold,  stern  eyes.  I  knew — I 
knew  with  absolute  certainty — that  that  moment  would 
be  the  last  of  my  life. 

"  And  thus  I  went  to  bed  ;  but  sleep  would  not  come. 
I  was  lying  there,  my  hands  crossed  on  my  bosom,  and 
I  repeated  to  myself  over  and  over  again  what  I  had 
sworn  ;  and  whenever  my  heart  became  heavy — ah,  so 
heavy!  from  an  unspeakable  sense  of  wretchedness — 
then  I  put  the  point  of  my  dagger  upon  my  disobedient, 
rebellious  heart,  and  it  became  quiet  again  and  hum- 
ble !  It  felt,  so  to  say,  that  it  had  no  hope  of  vic- 
tory in  a  battle  between  pride  and  love.  At  last*  I  fell 
asleep  and  dreamed  I  was  reconciled  to  my  mother. 
She  covered  me  with  kisses  and  with  jewels;  but  the 
kisses  were  icy,  and  the  jewels  chilled  me  to  the  marrow 
of  my  bones.  Yet  I  suffered  it  to  be  done,  and  she  took 
me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  through  dark  passages  into 
the  brilliantly-lighted  interior  of  a  church  which  was 
full  of  people.  The  eyes  of  all  these  people  were  fixed 
upon  me.  Then  it  was  suddenly  no  longer  my  mother 
who  held  my  hand,  but  a  tall,  strange  man  in  a  uniform 
dazzling  with  gold  and  diamonds.  I  could  not  see  his 
face,  for  he  held  it  always  aside.  Thus  we  approached 
the  altar;  a  priest  was  standing  on  the  steps.  The  organ 
sounded,  and  song  filled  the  high  vaults.  Above  the  priest 
hung  a  large  wooden  crucifix,  such  as  we  have  hang- 
ing in  the  chapel  at  Grenwitz,  which  always  filled  me 
with  horror  when  I  was  a  child.  The  same  horror  over- 
came me  now  ;  for  while  the  priest  was  speaking,  the  im- 
age was  continually  shaking  its  head;  and  when  I  exam- 
ined it  more  accurately  it  bore  Oswald's  features,  but 
disfigured  and  deadly  pale,  and  in  the  side  of  the  body 
my  dagger  was  sticking  up  to  the  hilt,  and  black  drops 
of  blood  were  trickling  down  one  by  one.  Then  it 
opened  its  lips  and  cried  aloud — a  fearful,  yelling  cry — 
and  the  cry  scattered  the  crowd,  the  vaults  came  down 
with  a  crash,  and  the  man  by  my  side  changed  into  a 
skeleton.  I  tried  in  vain  to  escape  from  its  hold.  It 
seized  me  with  its  bony  arms  and  went  down  with  me 
into  dark  depths — faster,  faster,  till  I  awoke  with  horror ! 


294  Through  Night  to  Light. 

The  dismal  autumn  morning  was  looking  into  my  room, 
but  I  thought  I  still  heard  the  trumpets,  and  it  took  me 
some  time  before  I  could  make  out  that  they  were  the 
melancholy  strains  of  a  military  band  which  escorted  a 
funeral  past  our  house  to  the  graveyard  near  by. 

"  I  tried  to  smile  at  my  ridiculous  dream,  and  I  suc- 
ceeded ;  because  I  7(;'/7/tv/ it ;  becausel  was  determined  not 
to  allow  empty  fancies  of  an  excited  imagination  to  in- 
fluence my  decision.  Besides,  I  could  now,  when  I  was 
calm  again,  readily  explain  liow  the  dream  had  come 
about.  The  night  before  I  had  seen  Oswald  take  leave 
of  me,  suffering  greatly ;  on  this  very  day  I  was  to  meet 
my  mother  once  more  after  a  long,  long  interval.  My 
father  had  brought  about  this  interview.  He  wished  me 
.  to  be  at  a  party  which  they  proposed  to  give,  and  I 
could  not  refuse  my  good  father  this  request-. 

"  I  went  there  in  the  morning  at  the  time  for  visiting. 
The  meeting  was  less  painful  than  I  had  expected.  I 
found  fortunately  a  crowd  of  visitors  there — the  Clotens, 
Barnewitz,  etc.  ;  also  an  officer — a  Prince  Waldenberg — ■ 
•a  remarkably  stately,  proud  man,  but  not  handsome.  He 
had,  of  course,  introduced  himself  to  me,  and  asked  me 
to  give  him  a  waltz  for  the  next  night.  Soon  afterwards 
the  visitors  left,  and  I  also.  Emily  Cloten — I  have  often 
written  to  you  about  her — congratulated  me,  as  she 
drove  me  back  to  my  boarding-school  in  her  carriage, 
on  my  'conquest.'  I  told  her  I  had  no  fondness  for 
conquests  which  were  so  easily  made.  '  Chaume  a  son 
goiit,'  she  answered,  laughing.  *  I,  for  my  part,  think  that 
what  we  do  not  catch  on  the  wing  is  not  worth  catching. 
My  motto  is  always :  rasnour  ou  la  vie.  It  is  true  I  am 
a  swallow,  and  live  on  midges.  Royal  eagles,  like  your- 
self, must  have  nobler  prey  :  a  prey  which  at  need  can 
defend  itself.  The  princely  quarry  is  too  proud  for  me, 
I  confess.  But  for  you — c'est  autre  chose.  Like  and  like, 
you  know.' 

"  The  frivolous  words  of  the  talkative  woman  had 
roused  my  curiosity.  I  resolved  to  examine  the  prince 
more  closely  during  the  party.  In  the  humor  in  wliich 
I  was  I  liked  the  idea  of  measuring  my  pride  against 
the  pride  of  another.     Had  I  not  sworn  never  again  to 


Through  Night  to  Light.  295 

admit  softer  feelings  to  my  heart?  Thus  it  was  a  kind 
of  comfort  to  me  that  there  were  other  people  in  the 
world  who  thought  about  it  as  I  did. 

"  My  mother  received  me  on  the  evening  of  the  next 
day  with  a  kindness  which,  to  say  the  least,  I  had  not 
deserved.  It  was  evidently  her  intention  to  show  me 
that  she  intended  a  genuine  reconciliation.  She  kissed 
my  forehead,  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led  me  to  the 
ladies,  who  likewise  overwhelmed  me  with  civility.  It 
looked  as  if  tlie  Avhole  festivity  was  arranged  only  for 
my  sake,  as  if  I  was  the  centre  of  the  whole.  Wherever 
I  sat  or  stood  I  had  a  circle  of  gentlemen  and  ladies 
around  me,  like  a  queen. 

"  It  was  the  first  time  since  I  had  left  Grenwitz  that 
I  could  again  move  among  my  equals  in  fine,  well-, 
lighted  rooms.  I  felt,  more  clearly  than  I  had  ever  felt 
it  before,  that  this  was  the  only  sphere  in  which  I  could 
move  freely,  that  this  was  the  only  air  I  could  breathe 
with  comfort ;  in  fine,  that  I  was  born  to  rule  and  not  to 
serve.  It  seemed  to  me  all  of  a  sudden  not  so  very  dif- 
ficult after  all  to  keep  thevowAvhich  I  had  burnt  in  that 
night  into  my  heart  with  glowing  tears.  I  only  smiled 
at  the  fancies  of  a  girl  at  boarding-school.  And  with  a 
smile  I  received  the  homage  which  was  profusely  laid 
at  my  feet. 

"  Among  those  around  me  was  also  Prince  Walden- 
berg.  I  needed  not  inquire  after  his  family  and  circum- 
stances. Ever}'body  was  eager  to  furnish  me  with  in- 
formation. He  is  a  native  of  Russia,  and  immensely 
rich.  His  mother's  estates — she  is  Princess  Letbus — 
lie  in  various  parts  of  Russia;  he  is  Prince  Waldenberg 
through  his  mother,  who  comes  of  that  family.  Since 
he  has  succeeded  to  the  estates,  he  has  left  the  Russian 
service  for  our  service.  His  father  is  a  Count  Mali- 
kowsky.  Both  parents  are  still  alive,  and  he  is  their 
only  child.  You  see,  dear  Mary,  here  appears  in  my 
letters  for  the  first  time  a  real  grandee,  who  is  the  equal 
of  your  dukes  and  marquises;  and  I  was  thinking  of 
you,  while  the  prince's  black  eyes,  however  far  he  was 
from  me,  were  all  the  time  looking  at  me,  whether  I 
would  see  an  encouraging  smile  in  your  eyes  if  you 


296  Through  Night  to  Light. 

were  here,  and  you  would  say,  '  He  is  worthy  of  you  ! '  I 
hoped  you  would,  for  the  appearance  and  the  manner 
of  the  prince  is  as  lofty  as  his  rank.  I  noticed  with 
heartfelt  shame  how  sorry  our  own  young  men  looked 
by  his  side,  and  how  they  all  tried  in  vain  to  copy  his 
way  of  walking  and  his  carriage.  He  spoke  several 
times  very  eagerly  with  me.  One  of  his  sayings  I  re- 
member, because  it  came  from  my  own  heart.  I  asked 
him  why  he,  who  has  thousands  and  thousands  of  serfs, 
was  serving  ir?  the  army  like  our  young  noblemen,  who 
had  nothing  in  the  world  but  their  sword  .?  '  Because  I 
am  too  proud,'  he  replied,  'to  Avish  to  rule  where  I  am 
not  fully  entitled  to  rule.'  'How  so,  highness?'  'I 
am  not  sovereign  ;  my  ancestors  were  sovereign  ;  I  have 
to  pay  for  the  weakness  of  my  ancestors.'  '  Would  you 
not  have  given  up  the  sovereignty.-' '  '  Never,'  he  said, 
and  this  was  the  only  time  that  I  saw  a  kind  of  genuine 
emotion  in  his  cold,  proud  face  ;  '  never  !  a  thousand 
times  rather  my  life.  But,'  he  added  after  a  sliort  pause, 
'  I  know  somebody  who  also  would  rather  die  than  be 
humbled.'  'And  who  can  that  be.''  'You  yourself, 
Miss  Helen.' 

"  The  party  did  not  end  till  late  at  night.  Papa  sent 
me  home  in  our  carriage.  Mamma  promised  to  return 
my  visit  the  next  day  ;  that  was  to-day.  She  really  came 
this  forenoon.  She  was  again  exceedingly  kind,  paid  me 
many  compliments  about  my  conduct  last  night,  and 
expressed  her  desire  to  have  me  back  again  at  the  house, 
just  as  my  father  also  wishes  it.  However,  she  left  it 
entirely  to  me,  whether  I  would  come  back  at  all,  and 
when.  '  You  did  not  exactly  have  your  free  will  when 
you  went  away,'  she  said  ;  '  I  want,  therefore,  at  least  to 
be  perfectly  sure  that  your  coming  back  is  quite  volun- 
tary.' 

"  '  And  cousin  Felix  .' '  '  He  leaves  in  a  few  days  for 
Italy.  I  shall  of  course  not  expect  you  to  stay  with  him 
under  the  same  roof 

"  Certainly,  even  if  my  mother  does  not  mean  it  hon- 
estly, she  has  at  least  found"  the  right  way  to  my  heart. 
I  am  half  decided  to  do  what  she  and  papa  want  me  to 
do." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  297 

The  young  girl  had,  as  it  Avill  happen,  felt  all  the 
changes  of  her  own  heart  which  she  described  in  her 
letter,  once  more  in  their  full  strength,  The  torment- 
ing conflict  between  love  and  ambition,  the  desire  to 
read  clearly  her  own  heart,  had  put  the  pen  into  her 
hand,  and  she  had  at  last  obtained  in  the  process  of 
writing  that  peace  which  had  been  so  far  from  her  when 
she  began  her  letter. 

She  was  leaning  back  in  her  chair  with  folded  arms, 
and  was  looking  fixedly  before  her  as  in  a  dream.  She 
listened  mechanically  to  the  modulations  of  the  night- 
wind  in  the  poplar-trees  before  the  window,  through 
which  she  heard  occasionally  the  low  thunder  of  the  ocean 
as  it  dashed  against  the  shore.  This  music  recalled  to 
her  the  earliest  recollections  of  her  childhood,  and  with 
them  very  different  sensations  from  those  of  which  she 
had  been  writing.  Suddenly  she  started  and  listened 
breathlessly  towards  the  window.  Through  the  mourn- 
ful sounds  of  the  wind  she  heard  the  singing  of  a  soft, 
deep  voice.  At  first  she  fancied  it  was  a  trick  of  her  ex- 
cited imagination,  but  as  she  listened  more  attentively, 
she  distinguished  the  words.     The  voice  sang : 

"  Thy  face,  alas  !  so  fair  and  dear, 
I  saw  it  in  my  dreams  quite  near. 
It  was  so  angel-like,  so  sweet, 
And  yet  with  pain  and  grief  replete, 
The  lips  alone,  they  are  still  red. 
But  soon  they  will  be  pale  snd  dead." 

Then  the  wind  became  louder  again  and  silenced 
the  voice  ;  then  it  began  once  more  distinctly  : 

"  The  lips  alone,  they  are  still  red, 
But  soon  they  will  be  pale  and  dead." 

Helen  trembled  in  all  her  limbs.  She  knew  the 
singer  could  not  look  up  into  the  lighted  room ;  but 
she  felt  as  if  his  eyes — his  blue  dreamy  eyes — were  rest- 
ing on  her.  She  dared  not  move,  she  hardly  dared  to 
breathe.  Once  more,  but  at  a  greater  distance  now, 
scarcely  to  be  distinguished,  he  sang : 

"  The  lips  alone,  they  are  still  red. 
But  soon  they  will  be  pale  and  dead.* 

Helen  thought  of  the  image  in  her  dream,  the  pale 
13* 


298  Through  Night  to  Light. 

crucified  one,  who  shook  his  head  so  sadly  when  the 
priest  was  saying  the  blessing;  and  she  thought  of  the 
dagger  which  had  been  thrust  into  his  5ide  up  to  the 
golden  hilt,  and  of  the  drops  of  blood  Avhich  slowly 
trickled  down,  and  she  pressed,  shuddering,  her  face  in 
her  hands. 


CHAPTER     V. 

FROM  the  moment  when  an  accident  had  thrown  into 
Albert  Timm's  hand  that  famous  package  of  faded 
letters,  bound  up  with  red-silk  ribbon,  and  long 
hid  in  the  archives  of  Grenwitz,  the  lucky  finder  had 
not  rested  till  he  had  found  out,  if  not  all,  at  least  most 
of  the  threads  of  the  secret  web  which  he  had  so  unex- 
pectedly touched  ;  then  he  had  set  to  work  making  a 
good  stout  tissue  of  it.  The  work  had  not  been  easy. 
He  had  been  forced  to  use  all  his  ingenuity  and  all  his 
inventive  power,  and  finally,  when  the  decisive  moment 
occurred  in  the  interview  with  Felix  and  the  baroness, 
all  his  coolness  and  boldness.  But  the  venture  had  suc- 
ceeded. The  captured  quarry  was  struggling  in  the 
meshes,  and  the  excellent  huntsman  rejoiced  at  it.  No 
sportsman  could  blame  him  for  his  joy.  Now  farewell 
to  labor  and  trouble !  Welcome,  sweet  leisure,  Avhich 
would  allow  him  to  rest  after  his  work!  Four  hundred 
dollars  a  month  for  a  whole  year,  and  then,  "  after  so 
many  sorrows,"  a  few  thousand  dollars  extra.  Albert 
Timm  would  not  have  been  the  contented  redskin  he 
was,  if  he  had  not  left  it  with  unbovinded  confidence  to 
the  Great  Spirit  to  care  hereafter  mercifully  for  his  red 
child. 

Nevertheless,  Albert  Timm  was  too  good  a  sportsman, 
in  spite  of  all  his  modesty,  not  to  know  the  old  rule, 
that  one  must  always  have  "two  strings  to  the  bow." 
Albert  Timm  had  a  second  string  to  his  bow,  and  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  twisted  this  string  according  to 
all  the  rules  of  his  art  out  of  innocent  sheep-sinews, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  299 

was  so  odd  that  the  artist  himself  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing heartily  whenever  he  thought  of  the  story.  Or  was 
it  perhaps  not  odd  at  all,  that  the  man  whose  the  booty 
legally  was,  not  only  never  svispected  it,  but  actually 
had  been  good-natured  and  stupid  enough  to  become 
the  intimate  friend  of  the  poacher.  Not  odd  at  all 
that  Albert  Timm,  feeling  the  first  four  hundred  dollars, 
hard-earned  money,  in  his  pocket,  and  sitting  in  the  city 
cellar  of  Grunwald  to  drink  his  own  health  and  a 
happy  issue  of  all  his  plans,  should  have  used  the  lupus 
infabuia,  Mr.  Oswald  Stein,  and  thus  been  able  to  treat 
him  with  champagne  and  oysters,  for  which  he  paid  with 
the  very  money  out  of  which  he  had  cheated  him.  He 
Avho  did  not  think  this  remarkably  odd  or  witty,  as  Al- 
bert Timm  called  it,  had  doubtless  no  eye  for  comical 
combinations,  such  as  accident  from  time  to  time  shakes 
together  in  the  kaleidoscope  of  life. 

Partly  to  enjoy  the  comedy  and  partly  for  the  sake 
of  a  "  second  string,"  Albert  Timm  had  met  his  old  ac- 
quaintance from  Grenwitz  with  open  arms,  and  had 
even  carried  the  fun  so  far  as  to  offer  to  become  his  inti- 
mate friend.  He  calculated  thus :  It  cannot  be  a  bad 
speculation  in  any  case  to  be  the  friend  of  this  disin- 
herited knight.  If  the  Grenwitz  keep  their  word  and 
pay  punctually — good ;  then  it  is  a  beautiful  evidence 
of  your  good  heart,  to  let  part  of  the  abundance  drop 
into  the  lap  of  the  knight  who  has  unconsciously  pro- 
cured it  for  you.  If  Anna  Maria  (he  thought  he  was 
sure  of  Felix)  wishes  to  break  the  contract,  or  if  an  un- 
foreseen accident  relieves  you  of  your  promise,  still 
better ;  then  your  disinterested  friendship  for  the  knight 
whose  claims  you  then  boldly  advocate,  gives  you  the 
strongest  claim  upon  his  gratitude — in  dollars. 

Thus  or  nearly  thus,  the  first  sketch  of  his  outline  had 
been  formed,  when  Albert  met  Stein  that  night  in  the 
city  cellar.  Since  that  time  he  had  employed  his  leis- 
ure hours  (and  he  had  now  an  abundance)  to  fill  up  the 
sketch,  and  he  was  so  much  pleased  with  his  new  plan, 
that  he  was  already  considering  whether  it  would  not 
be  better,  after  all,  to  overthrow  the  legitimate  ruling 
dynasty,   and   to   proclaim   Oswald   as   the   pretender. 


300  Through  Night  to  Light. 

However,  to  act  suddenly  is  not  the  manner  of  Indians; 
and  to  throw  away  muddy  water  before  you  have  clear 
water,  is  folly.  Albert  found  upon  thoughtful  reflection 
that  Oswald  was  not  quite  ripe  yet  for  the  part  which 
he  meant  him  to  play.  Oswald  was  an  enthusiast,  and 
enthusiasts  have  all  kinds  of  odd  notions  in  their  heads. 
For  instance  :  "  Property  is  theft,"  or  "  the  true  beggars 
are  the  true  kings,"  and  so  forth.  Might  he  not  take 
up  one  of  these  odd  notions  at  the  very  moment  when 
he  ought  to  have  acted  promptly.''  It  is  true  be  found 
Oswald  greatly  changed  since  he  had  seen  him  last. 
He  seemed  to  have  laid  aside  his  dreamy  sentimentality, 
and  to  be  filled  with  a  concealed  restlessness,  which 
broke  forth  now  in  extravagant  merriment,  and  now  in 
savage,  ironical  bitterness.  But  who  can  ever  judge 
rightly  of  problematic  characters .''  A  remnant  of  the 
old  ideology  was  no  doubt  still  there,  and  that  had  first 
to  be  driven  out  thoroughly.  Faust,  just  escaped  from 
his  cell,  must  find  it  impossible  to  return ;  he  must  be 
taught  to  relish  gay  life ;  and  how  could  he  have  found 
a  better  teacher  in  this  noble  art  than  in  the  past  grand 
master  of  all  merry  fellows,  the  invincible  Albert  Timm, 
whose  very  sight  was  a  laughing  protest  against  all  old 
fogyism.  And  then  there  was  a  will-o'-the-wisp  with 
which  the  knight,  wandering  helplessly  in  the  labyrinth 
of  his  passions,  could  be  led  far  into  the  morass,  from 
where  there  was  no  escape.  This  will-o'-the-wisp  was 
love;  his  love  for  a  certain  great  and  rich  lady,  for 
whose  sake  it  was  well  worth  while  to  leave  the  straight 
road;  a  love  which  the  knight  had  in  the  meantime  con- 
fessed to  his  friend,  and  which  the  friend  fanned  in  a 
way  which  would  have  done  honor  to  the  cleverest 
marinelli.  When  the  knight  was  once  lured  far  enough 
to  make  the  return  impossible,  when  he  had  been  turned 
round  and  round  till  he  knew  no  longer  where  his 
head  was,  then  the  moment  had  come  when  he  might 
go  up  to  him  and  say :  Honored  knight,  what  will  you 
give  your  Pyladcs  if  he  enables  you  to  possess  all  the 
glorious  things  which  heretofore  have  been  mere  phan- 
toms seen  in  voluptuous  dreams,  in  tangible  reality  .'* 
Unfortunately  Oswald  spared  him  much  of  the  ti-ouble. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  301 

He  was  at  that  time  unhappier  and  less  self-relying  than 
he  had  ever  been  before.  Berg^er's  doctrine  of  contempt 
was  a  bad  seed,  which  had  fallen  upon  soil  only  too  fer- 
tile. And  since  Oswald  thought  he  had  been  betrayed 
by  Melitta,  in  order  to  be  able  the  more  readily  to 
betray  her  himself,  he  had  irrevocably  lost  the  better 
part  of  his  self-respect.  It  did  not  avail  him  that  he 
charged  all  the  blame  of  the  rupture  with  Melitta  upon 
her,  that  he  called  her  a  heartless  coquette,  wlio  had  be- 
trayed him  disgracefully,  and  who  now  laughed  at  the 
poor  victim  (how  many  were  there  in  all.'')  in  the  arms 
of  her  lover.  There  was  a  voice  continually  whisper- 
ing to  him,  which  he  could  not  silence,  and  which  re- 
peated again  and  again:  You  lie,  you  lie;  a  woman 
with  such  deep,  loving  eyes  is  not  heartless ;  a  woman 
capable  of  such  love  is  not  a  coquette  ;  a  woman  with 
such  noble  thoughts  and  feelings  does  not  betray  the 
man  whose  happiness  she  knows  is  in  herself  alone. 

But  even  his  love  for  Helen  was  but  a  faint  reflex  of 
that  heavenly,  pure  flame  which  had  lighted  up  his  heart 
like  the  moon  in  a  dark  night  during  the  time  of  his 
love  for  Melitta.  There  was  in  this  love  much  of  that 
weird,  consuming  fire  of  an  eager  devouring  passion 
which  knows  no  holy  reverence  for  its  idol. 

To  all  this  must  be  added,  that  he  felt  indescribably 
unhappy  in  his  position.  His  duties  at  the  college  were 
repugnant  to  him,  when  he  had  hardly  begun  them. 
The  virtues  required  by  the  exceedingly  difficult  voca- 
tion of  a  teacher:  industry,  perseverance,  patience,  self- 
denial,  he  had  practised  little  in  his  life.  The  close  air 
of  the  class-room,  and  the  noise  of  a  crowd  of  merry  boys 
were  a  torment  for  his  over-wrought  nerves.  And  then 
his  colleagues  !  this  Rector  Clemens,  overflowing  with 
a  false  humanity;  this  stiff,  wooden  Professor  Snellius; 
this  Doctor  Kubcl,  combining  easy  comfort  with  so- 
called  wit ;  tliese  lions  of  learning,  Winimer  and  Broad- 
foot.  Gulliver  meeting,  on  his  famous  travels,  with 
the  man-like,  and  therefore  so  very  hideous  Yahoos, 
could  not  feel  a  greater  aversion  for  them  than  Oswald 
did  for  those  people  with  whom  his  position  brought 
him  in  daily  contact.     And  these  Yahoos  were  exceed- 


302  ,  Through  Night  to  Light. 

ingly  obliging  and  familiar;  they  seemed  to  have  no 
suspicion  of  their  ugliness  ;  they  overwhelmed  the  new 
comer  with  all  possible  kindnesses ;  they  invited  him 
again  and  again  to  evenings  at  whist,  and  evenings  at  ten- 
pins, aesthetic  teas,  and  dramatic  readings  !  They  did  not 
seem  to  mind  at  all  his  reserve,  his  chilling  coldness  ;  on 
the  contrary,  they  saw  in  it  the  awkwardness  of  a  young 
man  who  has  not  moved  much  in  good  company,  and 
must  be  encouraged.  Even  the  ladies  seemed  to  be  full 
of  this  notion,  especially  Mrs.  Rector  Clemens,  who  de- 
clared openly  her  intention  to  take  the  shy  young  man, 
who  was  standing  so  sadly  alone  in  the  world,  under  her 
wings,  and  who  had  already  begun  to  carry  out  her 
threat.  "  I  like  you,  dear  Stein  !  "  said  the  energetic 
lady ;  "  you  have  conquered  my  heart,  and  gained  by 
your  reading  of  the  'Captain'  a  place  in  our  dramatic 
club.  I  consider  it  my  duty  to  polish  the  younger  col- 
leagues. True  humanity  can  only  be  acquired  in  in- 
tercourse with  refined  ladies.  For  what  says  the  poet: 
'  If  you  wish  to  know  what  is  proper,  ask  noble  ladies  !  ' 
Look  at  our  colleague,  Winimer  !  You  have  no  idea 
what  a  bashful,  awkward  man  he  was  two  3^ears  ago 
when  he  first  came  here,  and  what  a  charming  young 
man  I  have  made  of  him  !  Well,  with  help  from  above, 
I  shall  probably  do  as  well  with  you." 

Oswald  overlooked,  of  course,  the  natural  bonhom- 
mie  which  prompted  this  and  similar  little  speeches, 
and  only  saw  the  ridiculous  form,  at  w^iich  he  laughed 
mercilessly  with  Timm,  whose  company  he  sought  reg- 
ularly after  these  inflictions. 

But  there  was  in  Grunwald,  besides  the  fair  manager 
of  the  dramatic  club,  yet  another  lady  who  thought  she 
had  an  older  and  better  right  to  humanize  the  young 
scapegrace,  and  who  was  the  less  willing  to  yield  her 
part  to  a  rival,  as  she  had  elsewhere  also  been  mortally 
offended  by  her  in  her  most  sacred  feelings. 

This  lady  was  the  authoress  of  the  "  Cornflowers." 

Primula  still  trembled  whenever  she  thought  of  the 
terrible  evening  on  which  she  had  been  expected  to  be- 
come the  murdei'cr  of  a  great  general  and  hero,  and  her 
only  consolation  was  that  so  far  from  reading  the  part 


Through  Night  to  Light.  303 

allotted  her  she  had  scarcely  commenced  it.  But,  how- 
ever that  might  be,  her  hatred  and  her  contempt  for  the 
people  who  had  treated  her  with  such  indignity  re- 
mained the  same.  She  declared  that  an  unexpected 
meeting  with  Mrs.  Rector  Clemens  might  have  the  most 
disastrous  consequences  for  her  health.  She  carried, 
even  at  first,  the  precaution  so  far  that  she  never  went 
out  without  sending  her  husband  some  twenty  or  thirty 
yards  ahead,  so  that  he  could  warn  her  in  time  of  the 
probable  approach  of  the  "  Gorgon's  head;"  and  al- 
though this  extreme  nerv'ousness  gradually  subsided, 
the  mere  mention  of  her  adversary's  name  continued 
still  to  cause  her  immediately  great  and  painful  emotion. 
But  Primula's  enterprising  spirit  did  not  rest  long 
content  with  such  an  apparently  passive  resistance.  Her. 
adversary,  and  not  she  alone,  but  her  whole  kin  and  her 
whole  circle,  must  not  merely  be  despised  in  silence  ; 
they  must  be  positively  humiliated.  She  must  be  cut 
to  the  heart,  or,  as  the  poetess  called  it  in  maniadic  pas- 
sionateness,  "  the  flaming  firebrand  must  be  hurled  upon 
her  own  hearth."  This,  however,  could  be  done  in  no 
other  Avay  than  by  exploding  the  dramatic  club  by  es- 
tablishing another  club  in  opposition,  Avhich  should 
contain,  under  Primula's  direction,  all  the  intelligence 
of  Grunwald,  and  eclipse  the  club  of  the  schoolmasters 
as  completely  as  the  moon  eclipse.s  a  fixed  star  of  first 
magnitude.  To  preside  over  such  a  club  at  Grunwald 
had  long  been  Primula's  favorite  dream  when  she  was 
still  wandering  in  the  evening  twilight  by  the  side  of 
the  Fragmentist  through  the  fields  of  Fashwitz,  winding 
a  wreath  of  blue  cyanesfor  herself  in  sweet  anticipation 
of  the  triumphs  which  she  was  to  celebrate  hereafter. 
She  had  thought  this  dream  near  its  fulfilment  when 
she  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  reception  rooms  in  Rec- 
tor Clemens's  house,  her  Wallenstein  in  her  hand,  and  the 
part  of  Thekla  word  by  word  in  her  head.  She  had  ex- 
pected that  evening  to  be  the  hour  of  her  triumph.  Was 
it  not  to  be  foreseen — or,  more  correctly  speaking,  was 
it  not  a  matter  of  course — that  as  soon  as  she.  Primula, 
had  read  the  first  lines,  an  immense  storm  of  applause 
would  break  out ;  that  the  men  would  beat  upon  their 


304  Through  Night  to  Light. 

shields  (or  books),  and  men  and  women  would  exclaim 
as  with  one  accord  : 

"  Hail,  thiice  hail,  to  the  proud  ligiit 
That  makes  our  darkness  bright ! 
Oh,  poetess  of  lofty  mien, 
Be  thou  hereafter  our  queen  ! 
Oh,  don't  deny  this  prayer  of  ours, 
Great  author  of  '  Cornflowers  !  '  " 

For  this  was  the  Paean  which  the  authoress  had  herself 
composed  for  the  occasion. 

Now  she  saw  clearly  that  she  had  chosen  the  wrong 
road.  The  scales  had  fallen  from  her  eyes.  What  had 
she,  the  thoughtful  weaver  of  cornflower-wreaths,  to  do 
with  the  conflict  of  tragic  passions ;  she,  the  poetess  of 
the  famous  Ode  to  the  Mole  that  she  found  dead  by  the 
wayside,  and  to  the  May-bug  that  lay  on  its  back,  in  a 
dramatic  club.?  A  lyric  club  it  ought  to  be  ;  and  to  es- 
tablish such  a  lyric  club  in  open  and  explicit  opposi- 
tion to  the  dramatic  club  at  Rector  Clemens's  house  was 
the  thought  which,  as  the  poetess  sang  in  her  own  words, 
"  was  rushing  through  her  soul  like  a  mighty  tempest 
in  spring,  calling  forth  a  thousand  germs  irresistibly, 
and  yet  overthrowing  everything  in  its  path."  Who 
could  resist  such  inspiration  ? 

Surely  not  the  author  of  the  Fragments,  who  was  filled 
with  like  ambition,  and  who  had  been  most  deeply  of- 
fended in  his  vanity  by  the  conduct  of  the  schoolmen. 
He  became  the  first  pupil  of  the  prophetess. 

But  a  prophetess  and  one  pupil  make  no  congrega- 
tion ;  and  husband  and  wife,  however  clever  they  my  be, 
do  not  make  a  club  when  they  sit  at  the  tea-table.  The 
first  condition  of  their  success  was,  therefore,  that  pro- 
phetess and  pupil  should  go  forth  as  fishers  of  men  ;  that 
is  to  say,  of  members  of  the  new  club.  The  task  was 
not  so  easy.  Professor  Jager  knew  comparatively  little 
of  Grunwald  society,  which  he  had  only  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance when  he  was  a  poor  student  there.  His  wife,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  native  of  the  town,  the  seventh  daugh- 
ter of  Superintendent  Doctor  Darkling,  knew  of  course 
the  society  well ;  but  the  society  knew  her  also  as  a  bug- 
bear of  fright  and  disgust,  on  account  of  her  eccentricities, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  305 

long  before  Jagcr,  then  a  candidate  for  holy  orders,  had 
courted  her,  and  at  last  upon  his  appointment  to  the 
curacy  of  Fashwitz  had  carried  her  home  under  his  lowly 
roof  Although  the  prophetess,  therefore,  stood  at  the 
shore  and  cast  out  Jier  nets  day  after  day,  and  from 
morning  till  night,  she  had  as  yet  caught  but  few  fish. 
This  would  have  been  extremely  painful  for  a  sensitive 
poetess  if  her  favorite  Oswald  had  not  been  among  the 
few  captives. 

His  conduct  on  that  evening  had  won  him  Priir.ula's 
heart,  a  large  slice  of  which  he  possessed  already  before, 
and  to  a  certain  degree  also  the  heart  of  the  Fragment- 
ist.  Both  had  urgently  requested  him  not  to  forget  the 
"hospitable  friends  of  Argos  in  the  plains  of  tlie  Sea- 
mander,"  and  Oswald  had  accepted  the  invitation  In  a 
fit  of  malicious  curiosity.  He  had  vied  during  the  visit 
with  the  professor  and  the  professor's  wife  in  sarcasms 
against  the  schoolmen  and  their  wives,  and  had  at  last, 
when  Primula  revealed  to  him  her  plan  of  a  club,  en- 
tered into  her  views  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm.  He 
had  promised  to  interest  the  surveyor,  Mr.  Albert 
Timm,  whom  everybody  in  Grunwald  knew  as  a  very 
clever  man,  for  the  plan,  and  the  poetess  had  in  reward 
fur  such  a  happy  thought  embraced  him  before  the  eyes 
of  her  husband. 

Since  that  visit  not  a  day  had  elapsed  on  which  a 
poetical  epistle  written  by  Primula  had  not  reached 
Oswald.  She  inquired  anxiously  after  the  success  of 
his  efforts — little  notes  which  Oswald  carefully  keot, 
and  then  read  at  night,  of  course  without  mentioning 
names,  in  the  city  cellar  before  the  "  Rats'  Nest."  This 
was  the  name  of  a  secret  society  which  held  every  eve- 
ning its  sessions  in  the  above-mentioned  rooms,  and  to 
which  Oswald  had  the  honor  to  belong  as  honorary 
member.  His  reading  invariably  provoked  a  Homeric 
laughter  on  the  part  of  the  assembled  rats. 

It  was  the  day  after  the  party  at  the  Grenwitz  house, 
when  the  professor's  servant  Lebrecht  brought  him  once 
more  one  of  these  poetical  inquiries,  written  on  pink 
paper.  This  time,  however,  it  seemed  to  be  of  special 
importance,  for  Lebrecht,  a  pale  young  man  of  fifteen 


•306  Through  Night  to  Light. 

years,  who  had  been  a  few  moments  ago  an  orphan  boy, 
and  still  looked  more  than  half-starved,  remained  stand- 
ing near  the  door  and  said,  with  his  hollow,  orphan- 
house  voice,  "  An  answer  is  requested."  Upon  the  en- 
velope, also^  in  one  of  the  corners,  the  letters  A.  a.  i.  r. 
were  written  daintily,  surrounded  by  a  wreath  of  for- 
get-me-nots. The  note  was  of  course  in  verses,  and  ran 
thus: 

TO    A    YOUNG    EAGLE    FLYING    THROUGH    THE    CLOUDS. 

The  proud  young  eagle, 

Why  does  he  stay  so  far, 
Amid  gray  crows  and  rooks, 

He  my  life's  only  star  >. 

Oh,  how  I  love  to  see 

The  dark-brown  eagle's  hair 
On  your  dear  noble  head, 

With  the  blue  eye  pair. 

Know  not  what  was  done  ! 

Oh  glorious  conquest ! 
When  in  thy  eyes  I  looked, 

Was  lost  fore'er  my  rest. 

But  to  the  stars  he  soars, 

He  prizes  naught  below, 
That  I,  poor  Primula, 

Am  naught  to  him,  I  know  ! 

Oswald  read  the  verses  twice  and  a  third  time  with- 
out understanding  what  answer  could  be  expected  to 
such  nonsense,  until  he  discovered  far  down  in  the  cor- 
ner a  microscopic  '■'' toiirnez  s'il  vans  plait."  He  turned 
the  leaf  over,  and  there,  on  the  other  side,  he  read  : 

"  Dear  O. :  I  must  needs  descend  to  prose.  I  was  yes- 
terday in  most  noble  company,  about  whom  I  can  tell 
you  much  if  you  will  listen.  This  evening  a  lady  is 
coming  to  see  me  (a  member  of  the  same  society)  who 
has  very  distinctly  intimated  her  desire  to  meet  you  at 
my  house,  and  who  has  something  to  communicate  to 
you  which  may  possibly  be  decisive  for  your  future  hap- 
piness* It  is  true  I  should  be  deeply  grieved  to  lose  you, 
but  my  friendship  for  the  young  eagle  (see  page  i)  is  as 


Through  Night  to  Light.  307 

pure  as  the  element  which  he  beats  with  his  mighty 
wings.     Will  you  call  at  seven  o'clock  on 

"  Your  servant,  Primula." 

A  joyful  fear  fell  upon  Oswald.  Who  else  could  this 
be  but  Helen .''  It  is  true  the  step  was  a  bold  one,  but 
what  is  it  that  love  does  not  dare  ?  He  threw  with  rapid 
pen  a  few  lines  on  the  paper  and  gave  it  to  Lebrecht, 
with  the  direction  to  be  sure  and  not  to  lose  the  note,  an 
admonition  which  seemed  to  be  but  too  well  justified 
by  the  exceedingly  stupid  appearance  of  the  orphan  boy. 

The  hours  which  had  to  pass  till  the  evening  came 
seemed  to  him  to  creep  slowly.  Misfortune  would  have 
it,  besides,  that  he  had  to  give  two  lessons  that  after- 
noon, and  to  an  upper  class,  where  the  pupils  disliked 
him  particularly  on  account  of  his  partiality.  There 
was  no  lack,  therefore,  of  annoyances  and  tricks,  espe- 
cially as  their  young  teacher  seemed  to  be  in  worse 
humor  than  usually,  and  Oswald  allowed  himself  to  be 
carried  away  by  his  passionate  anger — a  scene  which 
restored  quiet  in  the  frightened  class,  but  which  caused 
him  greater  annoyance  than  anything  else. 

Wrath  and  disgust  in  his  heart,  he  left  the  college. 
Not  far  from  there  he  met  Franz.  No  meeting  could 
have  been  more  inconvenient  to  him  just  then.  He  had 
cultivated  the  friendship  of  this  excellent  man  very 
little ;  he  had  hardly  been  two  or  three  times  at  Doctor 
Rohan's  house,  and  generally  with  a  hope  of  not  finding 
Franz  there.  He  knew  that  such  conduct  towards  a 
man  to  whom  he  was  deeply  indebted  laid  him  open  to 
the  charge  of  gross  ingratitude,  but  he  preferred  that  to 
the  sense  of  humiliation  which  he  always  felt  when  the 
grave  eyes  of  his  friend  were  resting  upon  him. 

"  How  are  yovi,  Oswald  .'*  "  said  Franz,  crossing  over 
from  the  other  side  of  the  street  and  cordially  shaking 
hands  with  him.  "  You  must  be  desperately  busy  that 
we  see  so  little  of  you." 

"Not  exactly,"  replied  Oswald;  "but  what  little  I 
have  to  do  is  all  the  more  disagreeable." 

"  How  so  1  " 

"  That  school !  A  single  hour  in  the  wretched  tread- 
mill spoils  my  temper  for  the  other  twenty-three  hours 


3o8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

of  the  day.  Rather  a  sweeper  in  the  streets  than  a 
teacher." 

"  I  knew  beforehand  the  thing  would  not  suit  you," 
said  Franz,  with  his  kindly,  warm  smile ;  "  but,  Oswald, 
you  know  habit  is  a  great  thing  ;  and  then,  pray,  con- 
sider, every  profession  requires  self-denial  and  sacrifices, 
even  the  sweeper's  profession.  Good-by,  Oswald ;  I 
have  to  call  here.  Do,  pray,  come  and  see  us  soon  :  I 
have  something  important  to  tell  you." 

Franz  entered  the  house  of  his  patient,  and  Oswald 
walked  on. 

"  Self-denial — sacrifices  !  "  he  murmured  ;  "  that  sounds 
very  beautiful  from  the  lips  of  one  who  is  happy  in  his 
vocation.  There  is  nothing  more  intensely  disagreeable 
than  to  be  lectured  in  such  general  phrases,  which  suit 
our  position  about  as  well  as  a  blow  upon  the  eye. 
Timm  is  right :  Franz  is  a  tiresome  pedant." 

Involuntarily  he  turned  into  the  street  that  led  to  his 
friend's  lodgings.  Albert  lived  under  the  shadow  of  the 
church  of  St.  Bridget,  in  the  house  of  the  sexton,  Toby 
Goodheart,  a  man  who  stood  in  the  odor  of  very  special 
sanctity,  so  that  nobody  could  comprehend  why  the  very 
unholy  tenant  should  have  chosen  such  a  landlord,  and 
still  less  how  the  two  had  been  able  to  get  along  so 
well  for  many  years. 

Albert  was  at  home.  He  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  read- 
ing. The  fragrance  of  a  fine  Havana  cigar  filled  the 
room  which  formed  a  suitable  frame  for  the  occupant  in 
its  reckless  disorder. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,  ^  Pompci,  meoriim  prime  sodalium,'  " 
he  said,  throwing  down  his  book  as  Oswald  entered,  and 
rising.  "  I  was  just  thinking  of  you,  and  wondering 
whether  you  like  Horace  as  much  when  you  interpret 
him  from  your  desk  to  your  boys  as  I  enjoy  him  here 
on  my  sofa  with  a  good  cigar  between  my  teeth.  Isn't 
he  a  famous  fellow  .''  I  always  think  of  him  as  a  small 
man  with  a  bald  head,  a  promise  of  a  paunch,  bright 
black  eyes  and  large  kissable  lips,  who  lounges,  his 
hands  crossed  behind  him,  through  the  streets  of  Rome, 
casting  sheep's  eyes  at  a  pretty  girl  on  his  left  and  Hing- 
ing a  sarcasm  at  a  citizen  on  his  right,  and  whose  whole 


Through  Night  to  Light.  309 

moral  code  is  contained  in  the  words :  *  Hurrah  for 
Falernian  wine  and  pretty  girls  !  To  live  without  them 
is  not  worth  while!  '     Am  I  right  ?" 

"  I  rather  think  you  are." 

"  Oh  heayens  !  What  a  sepulchral  yoice  !  What  is  the 
matter  now  ?     Have  you  a  note  to  take  up  ?" 

"  This  wretched  college  !" 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  Send  it  to  the  Evil  One,  who  has  in- 
vented them  all !" 

"■'Mais  il  faut  vivre,'  ^s  the  tailor  told  M.  de  Talley- 
rand." 

"  '  Je  lien  vois pas  la  n'e  cessite,'  as  M.  de  Talleyrand  re- 
plied ;  at  least  not  the  necessity  to  live  as  you  do." 

"  How  shall  I  then  live  .'  I  have  about  three  hundred 
dollars;  when  they  are  at  an  end — and  that  may  be 
very  soon — I  must  either  work  or  make  an  end  of  myself 
too !  " 

"  Don't  be  such  a  fool!  A  man  like  you,  who  has  a 
thousand  ways  to  make  his  fortune  !  " 

"  For  instance  .-'  " 

"  For  instance,  by  marrying  the  little  Grenwitz,  who 
seems  to  me  to  wish  nothing  more  eagerly." 

"  That  is  easier  said  than  done." 

"  Perhaps  not,  if  you  take  the  right  road." 

"  And  which  is  that  ?  " 

"  Force  them  to  give  you  the  girl,  whether  they  will 
or  not." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  your  riddle  .''  " 

"You  are  very  hard  of  comprehension  to-day." 

Albert  leaned  back  in  his  sofa-corner  and  blew,  as  he 
loved  to  do,  ring  after  ring  in  the  air.  Oswald  was 
absorbed  in  thought.  He  considered  whether  he  ought 
to  confide  to  Timm  the  secret  of  the  rendezvous  to 
which  he  had  been  invited  for  to-night.  At  last  he  said, 
almost  against  his  own  conviction, 

"  I  received  a  curious  note  from  Primula  to-day ;  I 
should  like  to  see  if  you  can  make  more  of  it  than  I 
can." 

"  Let  us  hear,"  replied  Albert,  lost  in  admiration  of  a 
huge  blue  ring  which  he  had  just  accomplished. 

Oswald  read  him  the  address  to  the  young  eagle,  and 


3IO  Through  Night  to  Light. 

the  mysterious  postscript.  Albert  started  up  from  the 
sofa. 

"  Oswald,  you  are  tlie  .luckiest  dog  alive  !  "  he  cried. 
"  Why,  the  thing  is  evident.  The  young  lady  can  be 
nobody  else  but  the  little  Grenwitz.  The  girl  has  in- 
deed ten  times  more  sense  and  pluck  than  her  chaste 
lover,  who  understands  so  little  of  the  great  art  of  seiz- 
ing fortune  by  the  hem  of  her  garment.  In  good 
earnest,  Oswald,  the  cards  have  been  dealt  so  well  for 
you,  it  could  not  be  better.  Of  course,  it  will  not  be 
quite  so  easy  to  take  the  fortress.  The  Jager  has  evi- 
dently said  more  than  she  was  authorized  to  say ;  but 
never  mind  that — you  have  the  outworks,  and  if  you  do 
not  get  on  soon  it  is  your  own  fault.  When  are  you  to 
be  at  Primula's  house .''  " 

"  At  seven." 

"  It  is  five  now  ;  we  have  two  hours  time.  Come,  let 
us  consider  the  plan  of  operation  with  the  help  of  a 
good  glass  of  wine.  Charles  the  Bald  has  an  excellent 
hock,  and  you  must  drink  of  that  bravely,  so  that  you 
may  show  yourself  strong  and  hearty  in  your  enterprise 
and  permit  no  trace  of  sickly  hesitation  to  be  seen. 
Come  !  " 


CHAPTER    VI. 

PRIMULA  was  sitting  in  her  study  before  a  table 
covered  with  new  books,  magazines,  and  papers. 
The  door  was  open  towards  the  reception-room, 
which  was  also  lighted  up.  She  had  just  finished  a 
longer  poem,  which  had  to  be  sent  this  very  evening  to 
the  editor  of  a  literary  journal,  in  the  "  correspondence  " 
of  which  the  following  notice  had  appeared  three  times 
already:  "  P.  V.  in  Gr.  Great  and  gifted  friend: — We 
await  the  promised  MS.  impatiently.''''  There  it  was  now, 
the  promised  MS.,  written  with  the  heart's  blood  of  the 
poetess!  She  had  but  just  placed  the  last  dot  over  the 
last  i,  and  already  it  was  to  be  sent  away  into  the  wide 


Through  Night  to  Light.  311 

heartless  world,  before  he  who  had  inspired  all  these 
glowing  stanza  had  ever  seen  a  line  of  the  poem  !  If  he 
would  only  come  early,  so  that  she  might  read  him  at 
least  a  few  stanzas  before  that  young  Baroness  Cloten 
came,  in  whose  presence  that  would  of  course  be  im- 
possible ! 

There,  listen  !  Was  not  that  a  ring  at  the  bell  ?  The 
door  is  open  below  ...  A  deep  male  voice  ...  It  is  he  ! 
it  is  he !     Thanks  be  to  you,  oh  gracious  gods  ! 

Primula  blushed,  cast  a  glance  at  the  mirror  that  was 
hanging  over  her  writing-table  and  pushed  the  fair 
curls  from  her  blushing  face,  seized  a  pen  and  began — 
although  there  was  no  ink  in  the  pen — to  scribble  with 
nervous  eagerness  on  a  blank  sheet. 

"  Do  I  interrupt  you  .''  "  asked  the  deep  voice,  close  to 
her  ear. 

"  Why,  great  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  poetess,  cast- 
ing away  the  pen  ;  "  is  it  you,  Oswald .''  I  had  not  heard 
you  come  at  all." 

"  You  were  kind  enough,  madame,  to  tell  me  in  the 
most  charming  note  that  I  have  ever  read " 

"  You  flatterer  !  If  you  praise  thus  the  simple  lines 
of  this  morning,  what  will  you  say  of  these  verses  which 
I  have  written  this  evening  with  glowing  brow  and 
beating  heart,  thinking  of  no  one  but  yourself.''  I  must 
read  you  at  least  the  beginning.  She  will  not  be'  here 
so  soon  ;  perhaps  not  at  all." 

"  But  who  is  it .''  " 

"  Pray,  take  a  seat.  It  has  to  go  to  the  post-office  in 
half  an  hour.  Listen  !  What  do  you  think  of  this  origi- 
nal metre,  which  seems  to  be  worthy  of  our  Freilizrath .'' 
The  title  is,  '  The  lion  at  the  Cape.'  " 

The  once  unchained  Castalian  well  was '  not  to  be 
checked.  Oswald  had  to  submit  to  his  hard  fate  and 
allow  himself  to  be  flooded  by  a  genuine  deluge  of 
wretched  verses.  Suddenly  the  door-bell  rang  again. 
The  sound  seemed  to  be  but  a  signal  for  the  poetess  to 
read  with  double  and  treble  rapidity,  while  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  her  hearer's  arm,  as  if  to  prevent  him  from 
escaping.  There  were  only  about  thirty  stanzas  yet  to 
be  read,  when  a  silk  dress  was  heard  rustling  in  the  ad- 


312  Through  Night  to  Light. 

joining  room,  and  suddenly  the  graceful  figure  of  Emily 
Cloten  was  standing  in  the  open  door  which  led  to  the 
reception-room. 

"I  do  not  interrupt,  I  hope?"  asked  the  young  lady, 
with  a  half  shy  and  half  bold  glance  at  Oswald;  "I'd 
rather  go  away  again." 

"  Oh  no,  no !"  replied  Primula,  in  a  melancholy  tone, 
putting  down  the  MS.  and  rising;  "  not  at  all  !  I  was 
just  reading  to  my  young  friend  Stein  a  few  stanzas  of 
a  poem.  Why,  it  is  nearly  half-past  seven,  and  the  papers 
must  be  at  the  post-office  by  eight!  Dear  Baroness 
Cloten,  dear  Mr.  Stein,  excuse  me  for  the  hundredth  part 
of  an  instant.  Stay  here  in  the  sitting-room,  and  I  will 
be  back  as  soon  as  I  have  sent  off  the  parcel !" 

The  excited  poetess  pushed  her  guests  unceremoni- 
ously into  the  next  room,  whispering  at  the  same  time 
to  Oswald  :  "  What  a  pity !  Only  a  poet  can  feel  it ! 
The  last  verses  were  by  far  the  finest." 

She  dropped  the  curtain,  partly  to  be  undisturbed  and 
partly  not  to  disturb  her  friends,  and  Oswald  and  Emily 
stood  gazing  at  each  other — Oswald  speechless  from 
astonisiiment  at  this  strange  and  imexpected  solution 
of  the  mystery,  and  Emily  also  silent  and  embarrassed 
in  spite  of  her  boldness  and  cleverness,  but  only  for  an 
instant.  Immediately  afterwards  she  raised  her  droop- 
ing lashes,  smiled  at  Oswald  from  the  corners  of  her 
large,  gray  eyes,  and  said  hurriedly  and  in  a  whisper: 

"  You  surely  do  not  think  it  an  accident  which  has 
brought  us  together  here  .''" 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  believe,"  replied  Oswald,  un- 
consciously assuming  the  same  hurried  and  secret  tone. 

"Then  Mrs.  Jager  has  not  told  you  yet.-'" 

"What.'" 

"  I  made  her  believe  I  had  a  commission,  to  ask  you 
if  you  would  accept  a  place  in  the  house  of  some 
friends  of  mine  ;  of  course,  there  is  not  a  word  of  truth 
in  it.     I  only  came " 

A  glance  from  her  bright  eyes  and  a  quiver  of  the 
charming  mouth  filled  quite  eloquently  the  pause  wliicli 
the  young  lady  made  in  her  speech.  Oswald  was  still 
unable  to  adapt  himself  at  once  to  the  situation.     He 


Through  Night  to  Light.  313 

had  expected  Helen,  he  found  Emily — Emily,  whose  en- 
clianting,  coquettish  beauty  reminded  him  so  forcibly 
of  some  of  the  most  delightful  and  yet  most  painful 
scenes  in  the  confused  drama  of  his  life — Emily,  whom  he 
had  intended  to  meet  with  a  tragic  resolve  of  resignation  ! 
And  now  he  was  expected  of  a  sudden  to  play  the  part 
of  a  lover!  He  felt  a  very  decided  conviction  that  he 
must  give  the  young  lady  some  answer  or  other,  but 
the  varied  sensations  which  he  experienced  overcame 
him  so  entirely  that  he  in  vain  sought  for  words. 

"  Why  did  yot  not  call,  as  you  promised  the  other 
day?  "  continued  Emily,  somewhat  disheartened  by  this 
silence  of  her  knight,  in  the  tone  of  a  spoilt  child  who 
cannot  get  the  toy  she  desires,  and  who  therefore  is  on 
the  point  of  breaking  into  tears.  Is  it  right  not  to  com- 
ply with  the  request — the  harmless  request — of  a  lady, 
and  thus  compel  her  to  take  a  step  which  she  can 
hardly  excuse  to  herself,  much  less  to  the  judgment  of 
the  world  1  " 

Oswald  stepped  back  unconsciously,  and  replied  in  a 
half  serious  half  ironical  tone :  "  It  seems,  madame,  to  be 
my  fate  to  embarrass  you  always  by  my  plebeian  want 
of  knightly  gallantry." 

He  had  hardly  uttered  these  words  Avhen  he  would 
have  given  a  Avorld  to  take  them  back.  Emily's  lovely 
face,  which  had  until  now  beamed  with  rosy  smiles, 
became  deadly  pale.  Her  large  eyes  grew  still  larger 
and  rigid,  like  the  eyes  of  one  who  has  to  suffer  an  in- 
tense physical  or  psychical  pain  ;  her  pale  lips  trem- 
bled convulsively,  as  if  she  wished  to  say  something  and 
could  not  find  the  strength  to  do  so.  Her  whole  body 
trembled,  and  she  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair.  He  had 
not  meant  to  wound  her  so  deeply.  Oswald  was 
ashamed  of  his  cruelty,  especially  as  he  was  by  no 
means  so  much  in  earnest  with  the  Catonic  severity 
which  he  had  displayed.  He  went  up  to  Emily;  he 
seized  her  hand  and  held  it,  although  she  made  a  feeble 
effort  to  draw  it  away  ;  he  conjured  her  in  passionate 
words  to  forgive  him ;  he  swore  he  repented  of  what  he 
had  said  ;  his  heart  was  sick,  his  head  confused,  his  lips 
often  said  what  his  head  and  his  heart  did  not  wish  to 
14 


314  Through  Night  to  Light. 

be  said ;  she  ought  to  give  him  time  to  recover  and  to 
justify  himself  before  l:iis  own  heart  and  before  her." 

Emily's  pain  seemed  to  be  somewhat  soothed  by  these 
words,  and  perhaps  still  more  by  the  tone  of  deep  feel- 
ing in  which  they  were  uttered.  She  had  seated  herself 
in  the  chair  on  the  back  of  which  her  little  hand  was 
still  trembling;  her  tears  began  to  flow  abundantly  ;  she 
permitted  Oswald,  who  was  bending  over  her,  to  kiss 
her  hand  while  he  continued  to  implore  her  forgiveness 
for  his  insanity — as  he  called  it — in  low  words,  which 
became  every  moment  more  passionate  and  more  ten- 
der. Her  sobs  subsided,  like  the  sobbing  of  a  little  girl 
who  feels  at  last  that  the  doll  which  she  was  refused 
is  laid  in  her  arms  amid  kisses  and  caresses.  Both 
Oswald  as  well  as  Emily  seemed  to  have  entirely  for- 
gotten that  they  were  in  a  strange  house,  where  the 
very  next  moment  might  prepare  for  them  most  serious 
embarrassment,  and  they  were  fortunate  indeed  that  an 
unexpected  and  most  ludicrous  accident  recalled  them 
to  their  ordinary  prudence,  which  they  had  completely 
lost  in  the  intoxicating  joy  of  the  first  blending  of  heart 
and  heart. 

Suddenly  a  cry — a  yell — was  heard  in  the  adjoining 
room,  and  Oswald  and  Emily  started  in  horror,  both 
thinking  almost  instinctively  that  the  poetess  was 
wrapped  in  flames,  and  on  the  point  of  death.  The  first 
glance  as  they  drew  aside  the  curtain  taught  them, 
however,  that  the  poetess  was  not  in  any  danger  of  her 
life,  and  as  they  approached  more  closely  they  saw 
what  had  happened.  Primula  had  given  herself  up  so 
completely  to  the  admiration  of  a  successful  stanza 
which  had  received  at  the  last  moment  and  by  the  inser- 
tion of  an  indescribably  pathetic  epithet  a  most  marvel- 
lous additional  charm,  that  she  had  committed  a  mis- 
take, such  as  will  happen  to  great  minds,  and  to  them 
most  easily  of  all.  She  had  intended  to  take  up  the 
sand-box,  and  she  had  taken  the  inkstand  and  poured 
its  copious  contents  to  the  last  drop  over  her  manu- 
script, and  thence  in  a  black  cascade  over  the  whole 
breadth  of  her  yellow-silk  dress !  And  there  she  was 
standing   now — the   cruelly   ill-treated   sufferer — silent 


Through  Night  to  Light.  315 

after  the  first  anguish  had  forced  her  to  utter  that  cry- 
raising  her  sadly  inked  hands  and  her  watery  blue  eyes 
overflowing  with  tears  to  the  ceiling,  as  if  she  wished 
to  call  upon  father  Apollo  himself  to  be  a  witness  of  the 
terrible  fate  that  had  befallen  one  of  his  most  favored 
children.  Oswald  and  Emily  could  hardly  restrain  their 
laughter  ;  but  all  their  efforts  to  preserve  their  compo- 
sure became  useless  in  an  instant,  when  the  poetess  in 
tragic  grief  pressed  both  her  hands  upon  her  face,  and  a 
moment  afterwards  stood  before  them  covered  with  ter- 
rible paint,  like  the  wildest  warrior  of  the  wildest  tribe 
of  Indians. 

"  Do  not  laugh,  my  friends,"  said  the  offended  lady, 
with  gentle  voice ;  "  it  does  not  become  the  friends  of 
persecuted  genius  to  belong  to  that  sad  world  which 
loves  to  blacken " 

Emily,  who  was  always  quite  as  ready  to  laugh  im- 
moderately as  to  weep  bitterly,  could  not  resist  any 
longer.  She  threw  herself  into  an  arm-chair  and  laughed 
till  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

*'  Baroness  Cloten  !  "  said  Primula,  with  dignity,  "  I 
must  say  that  your  manner  has  something  very  offensiv^e 
for  delicately-strung  minds  like  mine;  "  then  turning  to 
Oswald,  in  the  tone  of  Caesar  dying  :  "  Oswald,  I  have 
not  deserved  this !  "  and  she  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"Dearest,  best  Mrs.  Jager,"  cried  Emily,  rising  and 
stepping  in  her  way ;  "  I  beg  a  thousand,  thousand  par- 
dons; but,  pray,  see  yourself  if  it  is  possible  for  any 
one  to  keep  from  laughing  !  " 

And  she  pushed  Primula  gently  towards  the  pier- 
glass,  before  which  the  poetess  was  in  the  habit  of  seek- 
ing inspiration  from  her  own  muse-like  appearance. 
But  now  it  was  the  work  of  a  moment  to  look,  to  utter 
a  piercing  cry,  as  if  she  had  beheld  a  gorgon-head,  and 
then,  without  further  warning,  to  fall  fainting  into 
Oswald's  arms,  who  was  fortunately  standing  behind 
her. 

"  Pray  ring  for  the  maid,"  said  Oswald,  carrying  the 
poor  lady  to  the  sofa. 

Upon  Emily's  furious  ringing  Primula's  maid  ap- 
peared at  once,  but  the  poetess  had  recovered  so  far  as 


3i6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

to  be  able  to  open  her  eyes  partly  and  to  say  with  feeble 
voice  to  Oswald  and  Emily  :  "  I  thank  you,  my  friends  ! 
You  had  a  right  to  laugh,  du  sublime  an  ridicule  il  ny  a 
quuiipas.  But  now  leave  me!  Leave  an  unfortunate 
being,  forced  to  bear  her  terrible  fate  in  silence  and 
solitude.     Not  a  word  !     Not  a  word  !     Leave  me !  " 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  They  had  to  obey  a  request 
made  in  such  positive  terms.  Five  minutes  afterwards 
Emily  and  Oswald  had  been  shown  down  the  stairs  by 
sleepy  Lebrecht  and  were  standing  in  the  street. 

'•'•Mais,  man  Dicu  !  "  said  Emily ;  "  I  never  thought  of 
it !     I  have  ordered  my  carriage  an  hour  later !  " 

"  Then  there  will  be  nothing  left  for  you  but  to 
accept  my  arm  and  to  walk  home  on  foot." 

Emily  gave  her  arm  to  Oswald,  and  thus  they  walked 
for  some  time  in  silence  side  by  side. 

It  was  a  very  dark,  still  evening.  The  autumn  winds 
had  bared  the  trees  completely,  and  were  resting  now 
they  had  done  their  work.  Winter  Avas  standing  at  the 
gate,  but  was  delaying  yet  a  little  while  before  he 
knocked  with  his  frozen  hand.  The  streets  were  ex- 
ceedingly dark,  as  the  lamps  had  not  been  lighted  for 
astronomical  reasons.  It  was,  therefore,  but  natural 
that  Emily  was  pressing  more  closely  on  Oswald's  arm, 
who  seemed  to  know  the  way  perfectly  well. 

"  Do  you  know  where  we  live  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  In  Southtown,  I  think  ?  "  It  was  the  same  suburb 
in  which  Miss  Bear's  boarding-school  was  situated. 

"  Yes.     It  is  a  long  way  !  " 

"  All  the  better !  " 

A  gentle  pressure  of  her  round  arm  rewarded  Oswald 
for  the  compliment. 

They  had  reached  the  town  gate,  walking  rapidly  but 
saying  little  to  each  other.  As  soon  as  they  Avere  out- 
side the  town  they  began  to  walk  more  slowly,  as  if  by 
concert.  Oswald  felt  that  the  young  beauty  who  hung 
on  his  arm  was  in  his  power — that  it  depended  on  him 
to  make  her  happy — in  her  sense  of  the  word,  at  least. 
The  virtuous  impulse  which  he  had  felt  just  now,  and 
which  had  been  produced  partly  by  the  pride  of  self-re- 
spect, had  long  since  passed  away.     Emily's  coquettish 


Through  Night  to  Light.  317 

charms,  whose  power  he  had  already  once  felt  over- 
whelming in  the  window-niche  at  Barnewitz,  had  not 
failed  to  have  their  effect  upon  his  wavering  but  ex- 
tremely susceptible  nature  ;  and  if  he  even  thought  at 
that  moment  of  the  greater  beauty  of  Helen,  and  of  what 
he  called  his  true  love,  for  which  he  had  sacrificed  so 
much — alas !  so  much  ! — this  served  after  all  only  to  make 
the  sweetness  of  a  stolen  and  half-forbidden  passion  all 
the  more  intoxicating. 

"  Are  you  still  angry,  Emily  ?  "  he  said,  with  the  most 
insinuating  tone  of  his  sweet,  deep  voice. 

"  I — and  angry  1  "  replied  Emily,  and  she  came  up 
closer  and  closer  to  her  companion  ;  "  can  we  be  angry 
where  we  would  love,  love  always,  love  inexpressibly, 
and " 

"  And  what,  sweetest  ?  " 

"■  Perhaps  be  loved  a  little  in  return !  " 

The  words  sounded  so  childlike,  good,  and  true,  that 
Oswald  could  not  understand  how  he  had  ever  been  able 
to  reject  the  love  of  this  most  charming  creature. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  "  you  were  once  angry  with  me; 
and  you  had  cause  !  I  swear  it  by  that  heaven  which  was 
then  looking  down  upon  us  with  its  golden  stars  !  How 
shall  I  make  amends,  oh  sweet  one  !  for  what — oh  !  I 
cannot  bear  to  think  of  that  night  at  the  ball  at  Gren- 
witz  !  " 

"  Really  !  "  replied  Emily,  merrily ;  "  oh,  then  it  is  all 
right  again.  Then  I  will  not  be  sorry  for  anything  that 
has  happened  since." 

"  For  what  has  happened  since !  "  IF/iaf  has  hap- 
pened.-' " 

"  How  can  you  ask  ?  Am  I  not  Baroness  Cloten  .-*  And 
why  am  I  that.-*  Only  because  you  would  none  of  my 
love  !  Oh,  Oswald,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  tumult 
there  was  in  my  heart  that  night  after  I  had  left  you. 
My  heart  was  breaking ;  I  could  have  cried  aloud ;  I 
could  have  thrown  myself  down  on  the  ground;  I  could 
have  died.  And  yet  I  sent  Cloten  to  my  aunt  to  ask 
her  for  my  hand.  How  I  could  do  it .''  You  do  not  know 
women,  if  you  ask  that.  Cloten,  or  any  one ;  I  did  not 
care  who,  at  that  moment      I  had  only  the  one  thought 


3i8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

— to  be  avenged  on  you  by  making  myself  as  wretched  as 
I  possibly  could,  so  that  you  should  have  my  unhappiness 
on  3'our  conscience,  and  I  might  be  able  to  say  to  you 
one  of  these  days  :  You  would  have  it  so." 

"  This  one  of  these  days  has  come  sooner  than  you 
probably  expected.  I  would  cheerfully  give  many  years 
of  my  life — I  would  willingly  die  on  the  spot — if  I  could 
by  so  doing  make  you  free  again ;  as  free  as  you  were 
when  we  met  for  the  first  time  at  Barnewitz." 

"  What  could  I  do  with  my  freedom  if  I  were  to  lose 
you }  "  replied  Emily,  tenderly  and  teasingly.  "  No, 
no,  Oswald  ;  ten  thousand  times  rather  just  as  it  is  now. 
If  you  will  love  me  a  little " 

"  Can  you  doubt  it .''  " 

"  Perhaps ;  but,  never  mind  ;  only  a  little,  and  I  am 
satisfied.  I  can  bear  being  called  Baroness  Cloten ;  I 
can  bear  your  loving  another  one " 

"Another!  " 

"Yes,  sir;  another  one;  Avho  certainly  is  very  beau- 
tiful, but  as  proud  as  beautiful ;  and  who,  you  may  rest 
assured,  would  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  her  love  to  her 
pride,  if  she  can  ever  love  really,  which  I  doubt.  Oh, 
Oswald,  T  wish  you  had  seen  her  last  night !  I  know 
people  call  me  coquettish,  and  I  may  be  so  when  I  have 
a  chance  of  making  a  fool  of  a  man  ;  but  then  I  do  it 
merrily,  and  not  by  casting  down  my  eyes  prudishly,  as 
Helen  does.  I  can  tell  you  I  was  angry  against  her  last 
night  for  your  sake.  I  thought :  there  is  the  poor  man 
dying  for  love  for  you ;  and  here  are  you,  the  lady  of  his 
hearF,  and  you  allow  yourself  to  be  courted  to  your 
heart's  content,  and  by  whom  .''  By  the  essence  of  all 
foolish  conceit  that  was  ever  put  into  a  handsome  uni- 
form ;  by  the  king  of  all  ball-heroes  in  varnished  boots 
and  well-fitting  kid-gloves ;  by  the  fashion-model  of 
our  young  dandies,  who  try  in  vain  to  imitate  him  in 
the  way  he  holds  his  head  and  snarls  out  his  JVon  Af a' a;», 
01/ i  Ala  moiselle  !  " 

"  And  who  is  this  hero  ?  "  asked  Oswald,  laugliing,  in 
a  way  which  did  not  sound  quite  natural. 

A  Prince  Waldenberg  —  Waldenberg-Malikowsky- 
Letbus." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  319 

"  Ibi  he  not  a  dark-haired  man,  as  long-  as  his  name, 
with  a  face  like  a  melancholy  bulldog  ?  " 

"  That's  the  man.  Handsome,  he  is  not ;  witty,  he  is 
not ;  good,  he  is  probably  also  not  exactly ;  but  what 
does  it  matter  ?  The  prospect  of  becoming  Princess 
Waldenberg-Malikowsky-Letbus,  and  to  be  the  owner 
of  a  few  hundred  thousand  souls — the  prince  is  a  Russian 
— covers  the  heartlessness  of  the  future  husband  with 
a  pleasant  veil,  and  one  can  gracefully  drop  the  dark 
silken  lashes  and  smile." 

While  Emily  was  thus  acting  upon  the  principle  that 
in  war  and  in  love  all  means  are  fair,  and  invoked  the 
demon  of  jealousy  to  come  to  her  aid,  they  had  come 
quite  near  to  Miss  Bear's  house,  as  their  way  lay  in  that 
direction.  Emily  paused  and  started,  for  suddenly  a 
gigantic  figure,  wrapped  in  a  large  cloak,  detached  it- 
self from  the  dark  shadow  of  the  poplar-trees  at  the 
garden-gate,  where  it  had  probably  been  standing  for 
some  time,  and  passed  them  slowly. 

"  Quand  OH  park  du  loup"  said  Emily ;  "  if  it  had  been 
less  dark  we  would  have  had  an  interesting  encounter." 

This  meeting  the  prince  at  this  hour  and  at  this  place 
was  a  confirmation  of  Emily's  words  which  could  not 
well  be  stronger.  The  drop  of  jealousy  which  had  fallen 
into  Oswald's  heart  set  his  blood  on  fire,  and  brought  him 
with  great  suddenness  to  the  same  state  of  despair  in 
which  Emily  had  been  on  that  night  when  she  was  re- 
jected by  Oswald,  and  with  wrath  against  him  and 
jealousy  of  Helen  in  her  heart,  went  to  become  Cloten's 
betrothed.  The  only  difference  was,  that  Emily  had 
never  loved  the  man  in  whose  arms  she  threw  herself, 
while  Oswald  had  been  from  the  first  moment  deeply 
impressed  with  the  lovely  woman  who  was  now  hang- 
ing so  temptingly  on  his  arm. 

"  Here  we  are  !  "  said  Emily,  when  they  had  reached  a 
villa  which  lay  on  the  same  side  of  the  road.  Between 
the  villa  and  the  next  house  a  lane,  which  Oswald  knew 
perfectly  well,  led  straight  down  to  the  park. 

"  Have  you  the  courage  to  walk  a  little  further  with 
me  into  the  park  .''  "  whispered  Oswald  into  her  ear,  as 
they  stopped. 


320  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  answered  Emily,  still  lower. 

But  her  courage  could  not  be  very  great,  after  all 
for  as  they  went  on  between  the  two  houses  and  then 
down  a  verv  steep  hill,  which  led  by  means  of  a  short 
wooden  bridge  into  the  park,  her  heartbeat  as  if  it  Avould 
burst ;  and  when  they  at  last  fovmd  themselves  under 
the  tall  trees,  and  the  night-Avind  blew  dull  through  the 
leafless  branches,  she  hesitated,"  and  said  : 

"  It  is  very  dark  here." 

"  Then  you  are,  after  all,  afraid,  darling  !  "  replied 
Oswald,  bending  his  face  so  low  that  his  breath  touched 
her  cheek. 

"  Not  by  your  side,  and  should  we  go  to  face  death  !  " 

Emily  hung  around  Oswald's  neck  ;  the  lips,  which 
did  not  meet  for  the  first  time  to-day,  touched  each 
other  in  one  long,  burning  kiss. 

They  walked  up  and  down  the  avenue.  They  did  not 
mind  that  they  could  not  see  the  trunks  of  the  trees  at  a 
few  paces  distance — that  the  cold  breath  of  the  sea  blew 
on  them  ;  the  darker  it  was,  the  further  they  felt  removed 
from  the  world,  which  must  not  know  anything  of  their 
love;  and  the  colder  it  was,  the  more  frequently  w^ould 
he  wrap  the  warm  shawl  around  her — the  more  closely 
could  she  press  to  his  bosom,  to  his  arms.  The  whole 
fire  of  passion  which  was  burning  in  Emily's  heart 
flared  up  in  wild  flames.  She  kissed  his  hands,  she 
kissed  his  lips,  she  laughed,  she  cried,  she  was  beside 
herself !,  "  Oh,  take  me  with  you,  Oswald  !  wherever  you 
Avant — to  the  end  of  the  world — where  no  one  knows  us, 
no  one  blames  our  love !  I  do  not  care  for  riches  and 
for  rank.  I  have  not  learnt  to  work,  but  I  will  learn  it 
with  pleasure  for  your  sake.  You  laugh;  you  do  not  be- 
lieve me.  Oh,  try  me  !  Make  me  your  slave ;  I  do  not 
complain,  if  I  can  only  be  near  you  !  And,  Oswald, 
when  you  do  not  love  me  any  more,  then  tell  me  frankly ; 
or  no  !  rather  tell  me  not !  take,  Avithout  saying  a  word 
— take  a  dagger  and  thrust  it  in  my  heart ;  and  then,  when 
all  is  over,  allow  me,  for  pity's  sake,  the  imspeakable 
bliss  of  breathing  my  last  in  a  kiss  on  your  lips!  " 

Thus  spoke  the  passionate  woman  amid  kisses  and 
caresses — now  jubilant,  now  melancholy,  now  in  broken, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  321 

stammering'  words,  and  now  in  winged  words  of  elo- 
quence, like  a  young  little  bird  that  would  like  to  sing 
forth  all  that  is  in  its  beating  bosom  at  once,  and  yet 
cannot  accomplish  more  than  a  soft  twittering,  and  now 
and  then  a  clear  note. 

She  could  not  understand  why  Oswald  refused  to  pay 
her  to-morrow  a  visit  before  all  the  world,  and  hence- 
forth to  show  himself  at  her  house  whenever  she  saw 
company.  She  fancied  such  intercourse  would  be  per- 
fectly charming.  "  Cloten  is  often  absent  for  half  the 
day.  When  you  are  once  introduced  at  our  house  we 
can  spend  the  most  lovely  hours  together  undisturbed." 

"  Never !  " 

"  Why  never }     You  do  not  want  to  see  me  1  " 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better ;  but  the  question  is  : 
Can  I  do  it  ?  But  how  can  I  return  into  your  society, 
after  leaving  in  the  manner  in  which  I  did  .-*  It  has  al- 
ways been  my  principle  never  again  to  put  a  foot  across 
the  threshold  of  a  house  where  I  have  been  once  insulted, 
purposely  or  accidentally  ;  for  what  has  been  done  once 
may  be  done  again.  And  if  it  is  not  done  confidence  and 
intimacy  must  needs  be  gone,  and  they  never  return  as 
little  as  innocence." 

"  But  why  do  you  mind  the  others  .'*  Those  I  do  not 
wish  to  see  and  to  notice,  I  never  do  see  or  notice." 

"You  can  do  that;  but  don't  you  see  that  that  is  ut- 
terly impossible  in  my  case .''  Or  do  you  think  Baron 
Barnewitz,  young  Grieben,  or  whoever  else  belongs  to 
that  clique,  would  leave  me  unnoticed  and  unobserved  ?  " 

"  They  shall  not  come  to  our  house ;  not  one  of  them 
shall  come.  I  will  receive  nobody ;  and  those  whom  I 
receive,  I  will  receive  so  that  they  will  not  call  again !  " 

"  My  dear  child,  those  are  all  pretty  bubbles,  which 
Avould  burst  at  the  very  first  breath  of  reality.  And  if 
you  were  really  to  enter  the  lists  against  your  society 
for  my  sake — where  after  all  you  would  be  infallibly 
worsted — would  your  husband  make  the  same  sacrifice 
for  the  sake  of  a  man  whom  he  certainly  does  not  love, 
and  has  good  reason  not  to  love.'' " 

"  Arthur  does  whatever  I  wish ;  I  can  ask  Arthur  to 
do  anything." 


322  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"And  if  he  were  such  a  fool,"  said  Oswald,  violently, 
"  I  will  not  play  this  blind-man's-buflf.  If  yovir  husband 
really  loves  you,  so  much  the  worse  for  you  and  me  and 
him.  I  know  that  you  women  possess  in  such  cases  the 
marvellous  power  of  not  letting  the  right  hand  know 
what  the  left  hand  does,  but  we  men  are  made  differently ; 
at  least  I  am.  I  do  not  talk  to  you  of  moral  scruples, 
which  we  manage  at  needs  to  overcome  when  we 
thoroughly  despise  the  man  whose  confidence  we  abuse  ; 
but  I  should  suffer  unspeakable  anguish,  for  which  all 
the  delights  of  love  would  be  no  compensation,  if  I  saw 
Avith  my  own  eyes  how  the  man  whom  I  despise  was 
placing  his  arm  in  coarse  familiarity  around  your  waist; 
if  I  were  to  leave  you  and  knew  that  you — oh,  I  cannot, 
I  will  not  speak  of  what  I  do  not  dare  to  think." 

Emily  threw  herself,  sobbing,  into  Oswald's  arms.  "  Oh, 
let  me  always  stay  with  you !  let  me  always  stay  with 
you  !  let  me  never  go  back  to  my  house  !  I  will  not  see 
him  again  !  he  shall  never  again  touch  my  hand.  I 
have  never  loved  him,  you  know  !  Oh,  Oswald,  have  pity 
on  me!  let  me  not  suffer  so  terribly  for  something  I  did, 
after  all,  but  from  passionate  love  for  you  !  " 

"  Poor,  unhappy  child,"  whispered  Oswald,  pressing 
her  tenderly  to  his  heart,  "  poor  unhappy  child  ;  and 
unhappy  through  me  !  That  is  the  bitterest  part !  Emily, 
sweet  one,  dear  one,  don't  cry  so  !  Your  sobbing  tears 
ray  heart.  Leave  the  man  who  has  already  made  you  so 
unhappy,  and  who  can  do  nothing  but  make  you  still 
unhappier.  Forget  that  you  ever  saw  him !  Go  back 
to  your  husband  !  You  will  not  be  happy  with  him  ;  but 
who  is  happy  in  this  world .''  You  will  get  accustomed 
to  him,  as  man  gets  accustomed  to  everything  at  last. 
And  thus  the  stream  of  life  will  roll  on  quietly,  a  little 
stormy  perhaps  in  the  beginning,  but  gradually  more 
slowly  and  lazily,  until  it  falls  finally  into  the  Dead  Sea 
of  stolid  resignation.  Oh  God  !  oh  God  !  Come,  Emily, 
it  is  of  no  avail  to  pity  one  another.  The  night  is  cold  ; 
your  hair,  your  clothes,  are  as  wet  from  the  falling  mist 
as  your  face  from  your  tears.     You  must  go  home." 

He  placed  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  led  her  back 
the  way  they  had  come.     Emily  suffered  it  all.     Her 


Through  Night  to  Light.  323 

suppressed  sobbing  ceased  after  a  while;  she  seemed  to 
comprehend  the  helplessness  of  her  situation.  But  sud- 
denly, when  they  had  reached  the  bridge  which  led  out 
of  the  park,  she  stopped,  seized  both  of  Oswald's  hands, 
and  said  with  a  low  firm  voice  : 

"  I  have  considered  it,  and  it  is  so.  I  will  not  live 
without  you  henceforth,  since  I  know  how  glorious  life 
is  with  you.  If  you  cannot  love  me,  I  conjure  you  by 
all  that  is  sacred  to  you,  tell  me.  I  will  not  say  a  word 
in  reply — not  a  word.  I  will  not  cry — not  complain. 
You  shall  not  be  troubled  by  me.  I  know  what  I  shall 
do  then." 

"Emily!" 

"  No — let  me  finish.  I  tell  you  I  will  not  live  without 
you.  If  you  do  not  love  me,  it  must  be  a  matter  of  in- 
difference to  you  what  becomes  of  me.  But  if  you  love 
me,  then  you  must  feel  that  we  must  be  united  in  one 
way  or  another.  How  that  can  be  done,  I  do  not  see  it 
yet ;  but  I  shall  reflect  upon  it  and  you  will  reflect  upon 
it,  and  we  will  find  a  way.  Now  tell  me  :  Do  you  love 
me  ?  or  do  you  not  love  me  .''  " 

"  I  love  you !  "  said  Oswald ;  and  he  really  believed  at 
that  moment  what  he  was  saying. 

Emily  threw  herself  into  his  arms.  "  And  I  love  you, 
Oswald,  as  Avoman  never  loved  you  before — as  woman 
never  will  love  you  again  on  earth.  And  now,"  she 
continued  in  a  calmer  tone,  while  they  were  walking  on 
slowly,  "  let  us  consider  our  position.  For  the  present, 
I  see,  things  must  remain  as  they  are ;  but  I  must  see 
you  from  time  to  time  or  I  shall  become  insane.  Here 
in  the  city,  where  a  thousand  eyes  are  watching  vis,  that 
is  difficult ;  but  I  have  another  plan.  Over  there  in 
Ferrytown  [this  was  a  little  village  on  the  coast  just  op- 
posite Grunwald,  where  the  ferry-boats  landed],  an  old 
nurse  of  mine  is  living,  who  is  devoted  to  me.  She  is  a 
Avidow,  and  has  an  only  son  of  my  own  age,  who  would 
go  through  fire  and  water  for  me.  She  is  an  invalid ; 
I  send  her  every  day  something,  and  often  call  on  her ; 
hence  nobody  will  notice  it  if  I  go  to  see  her  again. 
Her  son  is  a  hand  on  the  ferry-boat,  which  belongs  to 
her,  and  he  will  carry  us  safely  and  secretly  over  and 


324  Through  Night  to  Light. 

back  again.  In  a  few  weeks,  perhaps  in  a  few  days,  the 
ice  will  hold,  and  then  the  thing  will  be  much  simpler. 
If  we  do  not  before.  .  .  .  What  do  you  say,  Oswald.-'  " 

"The  plan  is  a  good  one,"  said  Oswald,  "especially 
because  I  see  nothing  better.  When  shall  we  carry  it 
out.?  " 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  choose." 

"When.?" 

"At  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  You  know  we 
must  not  cross  at  the  same  time.  I  will  go  earlier.  You 
follow  me  when  it  is  darker.  We  will  arrange  about 
the  return.  The  house  of  Mr.  Lemberg — do  not  forget 
the  name — is  the  last  on  the  right  hand  near  the  shore. 
Oh,  Oswald  !  Oswald  1  \  Think  of  the  happiness  of  being 
with  you  for  hours  and  hours  and  no  one  to  disturb 
us  ! ;  But  now,  my  Oswald,  go  !  You  must  not  be  seen 
with  me.  I  must  be  alone  when  I  get  home.  Fare- 
Avell — farewell  till  to-morrow." 

The  slender  figure  of  Emily  had  reached  the  gate  of 
the  villa  without  being  seen.  Oswald  heard  the  bell ; 
the  gate  was  opened  and  closed  again ;  Oswald  was 
alone. 

He  was  alone ;  alone  with  a  heart  in  which  it  was 
dark  like  the  dark  night  which  covered  the  cold,  lifeless 
earth  as  with  a  black  shroud.  Not  a  star  of  hope  in 
the  heavens,  and  none  in  his  soul ;  dark,  all  dark  from 
sunrise  to  sunset.  He  could  not  fix  his  thoughts  upon 
any  point  except  the  one  that  he  would  like  to  die — that 
it  would  be  fortunate  for  him  if  his  life  could  come  to 
an  end— for  him  and  for  others.  Did  not  misfortune 
follow  his  footsteps  1  Was  it  not  his  fate  to  carry  con- 
fusion and  sorrow  wherever  he  went  ?  And  this  last 
bond,  which  bound  him  irrevocably,  if  he  would  not 
prove  himself  faithless  as — as  what .? — as  he  had  always 
been!  Melitta!  Helen!  Emily! — what  had  Emily  that 
the  others  did  not  have,  except  that  she  happened  to  be 
the  last  ? 

Thus  he  wandered  about  in  the  park,  down  to  the  shore 
and  back  again,  and  once  more  to  the  sea-shore  and  back 
again,  driven  about  by  the  furies  of  his  own  conscience. 
The  damp  cold  air  penetrated  through  his  clothes,  he 


Through  Night  to  Light.  325 

did  not  mind  it ;  he  hurt  himself  against  the  dripping 
tree,  lie  scratched  his  hand  against  the  thorn-bushes,  he 
did  not  feel  it.  Murmuring  curses  against  providence, 
against  mankind,  against  himself,  he  drank  in  full 
draughts  from  the  cup  of  sorrow  which  a  man  prepares 
for  himself  in  his  folly  against  the  will  of  the  gods  and 
the  counsel  of  fate. 

At  last  he  found  himself — he  knew  not  how — before 
the  garden-gate  of  Miss  Bear's  boarding-school.  There 
was  light  in  one  of  the  windows — Helen's  window.  It 
was  the  first  light  he  had  seen  for  hours,  and  he  felt  as 
if  a  star  was  once  more  shining  down  into  the  night  of 
his  heart.  Comfort  and  hope  he  knew  that  star  could 
not  bring  him,  but  it  softened  his  despair  into  sorrow. 
He  fell  into  that  humor  in  which  man  rises  from  the 
chaos  of  his  own  passions,  looks  full  of  painful  pity  at  the 
careworn  features  of  his  genius,  and  feels  the  sorrows  of 
the  world  in  his  own  sorrow.  He  thought  not  of  him- 
self; he  thought  of  the  Son  of  Man,  as  he  raised  his 
voice,  gathering  his  strength  once  more,  and  walking  on 
the  road  towards  town,  and  sang  : 

"  Thy  face,  alas  !  so  fair  and  dear, 
I  saw  it  in  my  dreams  quite  near. 
It  was  so  angel-like,  so  sweet, 
And  yet  with  pain  and  grief  replete. 
The  lips  alone,  they  are  still  red. 
But  soon  they  will  be  pale  and  dead." 


CHAPTER     VII. 

A  FEW  days  later  a  little  company  was  assembled 
in  the  sitting-room  of  Privy  Councillor  Rohan's 
house.  It  consisted  of  the  privy  councillor  him- 
self, his  daughter,  Franz,  and  a  young  lady  Avho  had 
been  brought  there  by  Mr.  Bcmperlein  :  Mademoiselle 
Marguerite  Martin.  They  had  had  supper,  after  waiting 
a  whole*  hour  for  Mr.  Bemperlein.  Now  they  were  sit- 
ting around   the  fire-place.     Upon  a  table  near  Sophie, 


326  Through  Night  to  Light. 

where  usually  the  tea-things  were  placed,  stood  to-day  a 
small  tureen,  from  which  the  young  lady  filled  at  rare 
intervals  one  or  the  other's  glass.  The  conversation 
was  not  particularly  animated;  a  veil  of  melancholy 
seemed  to  hang  over  them  all.  No  stranger  would  have 
guessed  that  this  silent  melancholy  company  was  cele- 
brating what  is  ordinarily  looked  upon  as  a  festive  occa- 
sion— the  eve  of  the  wedding-day. 

And  yet  this  was  the  case.  To-morrow  in  the  fore- 
noon the  young  couple  were  to  be  married  in  the  church 
of  the  university  by  Doctor  Black,  and  then  an  hour 
later  they  Avere  to  leave  for  the  capital,  where  Franz  had 
important  business. 

For  at  the  eleventh  hour  before  the  wedding  a  great 
change  had  taken  place  in  the  plans  which  Franz  had 
formed  for  the  future.  The  sacrifice  which  he  had  wished 
to  make  in  all  quietness  and  secret,  for  the  peace  and  the 
happiness  of  the  family,  had  not  been  accepted.  When 
he  wrote  his  friend  in  the  capital  that  he  was  compelled 
to  decline  the  offered  place  as  assistant  physician  in  the 
great  hospital,  he  thought  the  matter  was  settled.  But 
his  friend  was  not  the  man  to  abandon  so  easily  a  plan 
to  which  he  had  become  attached.  He  wrote  again,  and 
— Franz  had  not  anticipated  this — he  wrote  to  his  father- 
in-law  also.  Thus  the  privy  councillor  learnt  what, 
according  to  Franz's  plans,  was  to  have  remained  a  se- 
cret forever.  He  fell  from  the  clouds ;  but  his  decision 
was  formed  instantly  with  all  his  former  energy.  When 
Franz  called  on  him  half  an  hour  afterwards  he  re- 
ceived him  with  the  letter  in  his  hand.  At  this  decisive 
moment  Roban  found  himself  once  more  in  the  posses- 
sion of  all  his  original  strength  of  mind  and  eloquence. 

"  Do  you  not  see,  dearest  Franz,"  he  said,  "  that  this 
enormous  sacrifice,  which  you  make  for  my  sake  Avith  a 
light  mind,  and,  like  all  men  born  of  woman,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  overwhelms  me  by  its  greatness,  and  anni- 
hilates me,  so  to  say,  morally  1  You  have  sacrificed 
your  fortune  for  me.  I  do  not  underrate  that,  I  am  sure ; 
but  many  a  father  has  done  that  cheerfully  for  his  son, 
why  should  not  for  once  a  son  do  that  for  his* father.? 
But  when  you  refuse  this  place  you  sacrifice  something 


Through  Night  to  Light.  327 

which  can  no  longer  be  counted  and  valued.  You  sacri- 
fice yovir  whole  future.  You  sacrifice  the  ambition  that 
fills  the  every  noble,  manly  heart,  to  reach  the  highest 
degree  of  perfection  in  the  profession  to  which  it  be- 
longs ;  but  more  than  that,  you  sacrifice  also  what  you 
have  no  right  to  dispose  of — your  duty  towards  your 
fellow-men.  To  whom  much  is  given,  of  him  much  is 
expected  and  much  demanded.  You  will  find  in  the 
great  city  a  sphere  of  action  such  as  a  Caesar  would 
envy,  if  a  Caesar  could  ever  comprehend  in  what  the  true 
control  over  men  consists.  You  will  be  there,  in  reality, 
Avhat  the  flatterers  in  Rome  called  a  Nero  and  a  Helio- 
gabalus :  decus  et  ddiciolae  generis  humani — an  ornament 
and  a  delight  of  mankind  ;  for  you  will  make  the  blind 
see,  the  lame  walk,  and  those  who  are  buried  under  the 
burden  of  their  sufferings  rise  from  the  death-bed.  And 
pupils,  filled  with  enthusiasm  by  your  words  and  your 
Avorks,  will  go  forth  to  every  land,  and  thus  your  useful- 
ness Avill  extend  infinitely,  as  that  of  every  truly  good 
and  great  man  is  sure  to  extend.  What  you  can  do  in 
Grunwald,  others  can  do  also.  What  you  can  do  there, 
few  others  can  do  ;  and  it  is  right  and  proper  that  every 
soldier  in  the  great  army  of  progress  should  march  in 
his  own  appointed  place  in  the  ranks. 

"  And  now,  setting  aside  these  inner  and  moral  mo- 
tives, which  bind  you  to  answer  to  your  friend's  sum- 
mons with  an  obedient  Here  !  the  actual  circumstances 
also  are  more  in  favor  of  the  step  than  against  it.  I 
know  very  avcU  what  motives  you  had  for  your  refusal, 
but — pardon  me,  Franz,  if  I  speak  candidly — have  you 
not  perhaps  underrated  my  strength,  even  if  you  did 
not  overestimate  your  own  }  I  am  what  the  world  calls 
a  candidate  for  death  ;  death  has  marked  me  already  as 
his  own,  in  order  to  hit  me  all  the  more  certainly  the 
next  time,  but  the  next  time  need  not  come  so  very 
soon.  If  you  do  not  object  to  it  peremptorily,  I  esti- 
mate my  probable  life  yet  some  four  or  five  years,  per- 
haps even  longer.  During  that  time  I  shall  hold  my 
lectures  and  visit  my  patients  as  before,  and  if  I  cannot 
do  it  all  by  myself  I  shall  choose  an  assistant,  who  will 
not  be  so  dangerous  a  rival  as  my  excellent  son-in-law, 


328  Through  Night  to  Light. 

whom  they  already  begin  to  prefer  to  myself.  Seriously, 
Franz,  we  are  here  in  each  other's  way.  And  when  the 
question  is,  after  all,  how  to  make  money,  why  then  it  is 
better  you  go  to  the  east  and  shear  your  sheep  there, 
and  I  do  my  shearing  in  the  west." 

Franz  was  not  quite  convinced  by  these  arguments, 
but  he  felt  that  the  privy  councillor  could  not  well  act 
differently  as  a  man  of  honor.  So  he  went  to  his  be- 
trothed and  told  her  he  had  received  an  offer  to  go  to 
the  capital.     What  did  she  say  to  that.'' 

"  Whether  you  ought  to  accept  the  call,"  replied  So- 
phie, after  a  short  reflection,  "  that  I  must  leave  of  course 
to  you  and  to  papa  to  decide  ;  for  I  do  not  understand 
that.  But  if  it  must  be  done,  I  shall  certainly  not  say 
No  !    When  do  we  leave  ?  " 

"  I  must  be  there  at  least  at  Christmas,  but  I  have  to 
go  at  once  for  a  few  days,  in  order  to  reconnoitre." 

"  Then  I  will  go  with  you.  You  shall  gee  that  I  am 
not  so  unpractical  as  you  think." 

One  would  have  thought  Sophie  cold  and  unfeeling, 
from  hearing  her  speak  so  calmy,  almost  coolly,  of  a 
plan  which  was  decisive  for  her  and  Franz's  future,  and 
which  separated  her,  if  carried  out,  perhaps  forever  from 
her  native  town  and  her  paternal  home,  from  her  friends 
and  acquaintances,  and  from  a  thousand  familiar  habits. 
And  yet  she  suffered  unspeakably  from  the  thought 
that  she  should  have  to  leave  her  father,  whom  she  loved 
so  dearly  and  who  loved  her  so  devotedly.  But  she 
knew  that  he  would  adhere  in  the  hour  of  decision  to 
the  principles  which  he  had  inculcated  in  his  daughter, 
and  that  he  should  expect  the  same  firmness  from  her. 
It  was  a  hard  struggle  which  these  two  noble  hearts  had 
to  endure  that  night  which  followed  the  evening  on 
which  Franz  had  decided  to  leave  Grunwald ;  a  strug- 
gle such  as  every  son  of  man  has  to  go  through  once  or 
twice — and  alas  !  in  many  cases  again  and  again — in  his 
life  ;  a  struggle  during  which  the  perspiration  runs  in 
big  drops  from  the  pain-furrowed  brow,  and  the  suffer- 
ing heart  prays :  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup 
pass  by  me  !  But  when  on  the  next  morning  father  and 
daughter  embraced  each  other  without  saying  a  word. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  329 

and  held  each  other  a  long,  long  time,  their  eyes  might 
gently  overflow,  but  their  brows  were  clear  and  their 
hearts  sang  heavenly  melodies. 

From  that  moment  Sophie  gave  her  whole  mind  to  the 
one  great  purpose  to  arrange  everything  in  the  house 
so  that  her  father  might  at  least  not  miss  the  accustomed 
comfort  when  she  should  leave  him.  Especially  was  she 
anxious  to  find  a  person  of  her  own  sex,  who  could  fill 
her  place  at  table  and  in  the  evening,  and  assume  the 
general  direction  of  domestic  affairs.  Her  choice  was 
soon  made.  Bemperlein  had  brought,  upon  Sophie's 
express  desire.  Mademoiselle  Marguerite  the  very  day 
after  that  memorable  conversation  before  the  fire-place, 
to  the  privy  councillor's  house.  Sophie  had  been  much 
pleased  with  the  pretty,  black-eyed  French  woman,  and 
congratulated  Bemperlein  sincerely  on  his  selection. 
Then  already  it  had  occurred  to  Sophie,  that  Marguerite 
might,  after  her  own  marriage,  manage  her  father's 
household.  Now  she  hastened  to  carry  out  this  plan. 
The  father,  upon  Avhom  the  "  little  lacerta,"as  he  called 
the  slim,  slight  figure,  had  made  a  very  favorable  im- 
pression, thought  the  plan  "  not  so  bad  ;  "  Franz  "  ap- 
proved," and  as  for  Bemperlein,  it  was  a  matter  of 
course,  that  he  adopted  it  with  enthusiasm.  He  being 
the  most  suitable  person  for  the  purpose,  was  therefore 
deputed  to  sound  Marguerite  about  her  own  views ;  and 
with  such  a  fine  diplomat  as  Anastasius  Bemperlein,  it 
was  not  surprising  that  his  most  delicate  mission  was 
crowned  with  the  most  brilliant  success.  Marguerite  de- 
clared that  she  was  willing  to  accept  the  proffered  honor 
de  tout  son  coeur^  as  soon  as  she  was  released  from  her  pres- 
ent engagement.  Nothing,  therefore,  was  now  wanting 
but  to  obtain  the  gracious  dismissal  of  the  Demoiselle 
Marguerite  Martin  from  the  position  as  subject  to  Baron 
Grenwitz.  This  was  more  readily  accomplished,  to 
everybody's  surprise,  than  had  been  expected.  The 
bright,  sharp  eyes  of  the  governess  had  long  been  a  seri- 
ous inconvenience  to  the  baroness,  especially  since  many 
things  had  happened  in  her  hovise,  and  were  still  hap- 
pening, which  could  not  bear  very  close  examination. 
Besides,  she  had  always  had  the  principle  that  it  was 


330  Through  Night  to  Light. 

better  to  change  her  servants  at  certain  intervals,  since 
she  thought  she  had  found  out  by  experience  tliat  "  new 
brooms  sweep  well,"  and  Marguerite  had  been  allowed 
to  remain  long  beyond  the  ordinary  term.  She  gave 
her,  therefore,  willingly  the  desired  covg'e,  and  permitted 
her  even  in  consideration  of  the  peculiar  circumstances, 
to  go  after  a  few  days  at  once  to  the  privy  councillor's 
house.  It  was  a  matter  of  course  that  Marguerite  had 
to  sacrifice  a  quarter's  salary,  "  in  consideration  of  the 
serious  inconvenience  and  evident  pecuniary  loss  which 
her  sudden  departure  caused  the  baroness,"  for  the 
young  "  person"  who  had  served  the  baroness  during 
five  years  with  indefatigable  zeal,  had,  after  all,  done 
nothing  but  her  bounden  duty. 

Thus  Marguerite  had  become  a  member  of  the  privy 
councillor's  family,  and  could  of  course  not  fail  to  be 
present  to-night  at  the  great  solemnity  in  the  family 
circle. 

She  was,  moreover,  the  only  one  who  could  keep  up 
the  conversation  to-night  without  great  effort.  She 
tried,  to  be  sure,  to  adapt  herself  as  well  as  she  could 
to  the  solemn  aspect  of  things,  and  not  to  offend  the  feel- 
ings of  the  others  by  her  own  cheerfulness,  but  her  in- 
nate vivacity  did  not  allow  her  to  be  silent  for  any 
length  of  time,  and  every  moment  she  broke  out  into  a 
"  dites^  moi  done,  mademoiselle,  savez  vous  me  dire,  monsieur  le 
docteur?  "  like  a  merry  little  canary  bird  who  begins  to 
sing  loud  and  joyously  again  after  the  first  fright  has 
passed  away  when  it  finds  its  cage  buried  in  darkness. 

"  But  I  should  really  like  to  know  where  in  all  the 
Avorld  Bemperlein  can  be  to-night,"  said  Sophie,  look- 
ing at  her  watch ;  "  he  promised  to  be  here  by  eight,  and 
now  it  is  half-past  ten." 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Marguerite  can  explain  the  matter," 
said  the  privy  councillor. 

'■'■  Aloi pas  du  tout !  "  replied  Marguerite,  glad  to  have  a 
chance  to  say  something.  "  I  have  not  seen  him  since 
last  night.  I  am  almost  afraid  he  is  sick  ;  he  has  looked 
quite  excited  and  nerve ux  for  some  days." 

"  I  was  to-day  at  his  lodgings,"  said  Franz. 

"  Well  ?  "  inquired  Sophie. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  331 

"  Well,  just  think,  I  did  not  see  the  odd  fellow  at  all. 
He  called  through  the  closed  door  that  he  could  not  see 
me;  he  had  an  important  chemical  investigation  to 
carry  on,  and  could  not  leave  it  for  an  instant." 

"  I  hope  nothing  has  happened  ?  "  said  Sophie.  "  Had 
you  not  better  go  to  his  house  and  see,  Franz  .?  " 

"  Very  well  !  "  replied  Franz,  emptying  his  glass  and 
rising. 

At  the  same  moment,  however,  there  was  heard  sup- 
pressed laughing  in  the  hall,  where  the  servants  seemed 
to  be  assembled.  The  door  opened  and  a  strangely  ac- 
coutred personage  entered.  Two  huge  goose-wings 
fastened  to  the  shoulders  and  a  bow  in  the  hand,  with 
the  requisite  quiver  and  arrows  on  the  shoulder,  together 
with  a  wreath  on  the  head,  proclaimed  him  undoubtedly 
as  Amor,  although  the  spectacles  on  his  nose  hardly 
agreed  with  the  proverbial  blindness  of  the  god  of  love, 
nor  the  black  evening  costume  with  the  classic  sim- 
plicity on  which  the  Son  of  Venus  generally  presents 
himself 

This  strange  figure  approached  the  company  with 
graceful  steps,  remained  standing  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance, bowed  and  spoke  : 

"  Most  highly  honored,  happy  pair,  most  worthy 
father  of  the  bride  and  most  darling  demoiselle : 

"  I  am — to  see  it  is  not  hard — 
The  great  god  Amor. 
Where'er  my  flames  burn  in  a  heart, 
There  I  am,  rich  or  poor. 
Whoever  hears  my  arrows  rattle, 
Forsakes  the  hope  of  doing  battle; 
The  arrow  sent  from  my  good  bow, 
Strikes  great  and  small  and  high  and  low. 
And  who  is  wounded  by  my  hand, 
Drops  conquer'd  on  the  sand. 
I  now  will  show  you  of  my  art, 
A  sample,  which  will  make  you  start." 

Here  Amor  took  with  great  solemnity  an  arrow  from 
his  quiver,  saying  :  Do  not  fear,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
the  string  is  loose,  and  the  arrows  have,  as  you  will  please 
notice,  huge  India-rubber  balls  instead  of  points.  There- 
upon he  placed  the  harmless  arrow  on  the  harmless  bow, 


332  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  aimed  it  at  Sophie,  Avho  caught  it  cleverly  in  her 
hand  and  pressed  it  with  comic  pathos  to  her  heart. 
The  same  proceeding  was  repeated  with  Franz,  except 
that  it  hit  him  on  the  head.  After  Amor  had  thus  demon- 
strated that  he  was  not  idly  threatening,  he  continued, 

"  Now  two  have  been  dispatched, 
And  all  their  peace  is  gone  ; 
It  can   be  clearly  seen 
That  they're  forever  done. 
They  know  no  rest  and  no  repose, 
If  snow  comes  down,  or  blooms  the  rose. 
Until  the  parson  makes  them  one, 
And  they  are  altogether  gone. 
Then  fare  thee  well,  paternal  home, 
I  must  through  all  the  world  now  roam  ! 
Then  fare  thee  well,  oh  father  dear, 
We  never  shall  again  be  here  ! 
Then  fare  ye  well,  oh  friends  of  ours, 
Who  were  our  joy  at  all  good  hours  ! 
Then  fare  ye  well,  good  people  all, 
I  have  to  follow  another  call ! 
To-morrow,  with  the  evening  star, 
I  shall  be  gone,  oh  ever  so  far  !" 

The  last  words  Amor  uttered  with  deeply-moved  voice. 
The  faces  of  the  company  around  th?  fire-place,  which 
had  at  first  beamed  with  merriment,  had  become  graver 
and  graver,  and  through  the  half-opened  door,  around 
which  the  servants  were  crowding,  suppressed  sobs  were 
heard. 

"  Take  a  glass  of  our  brewing,  Bemperly,"  said  Sophie, 
offering  Amor  a  glass. 

"  Your  health.  Miss  Sophie,"  replied  Amor,  emptying 
the  glass  at  one  gulp.  "  But  now,  sit  down  again  ;  I 
have  not  done  yet." 

Amor  stepped  back  again,  rattled  his  quiver  as  if  to 
convince  himself  that  there  were  some  arrows  left,  and 
then  said  : 

"  So  fierce,  as  you  have  just  now  seen, 
Are  Amor's  arrows  sharp  and  keen. 
Yet  does  at  times  he  find  it  hard, 
When  SHE  keeps  anxious  watch  and  ward, 
The  good  young  god  is  full  of  zeal — " 

At  these  words  he  glanced  adoringly  at  mademois- 
elle— 


Through  Night  to  Light.  333 

"  But  she  thinks  not  of  woe  or  weal, 
When  he  offender  love  then  speaks, 
'  I  do  not  understand  !  '  she  shrieks." 

This  allusion,  quite  intelligible  to  all  present,  called 
forth  a  universal  smile,  which  changed  into  loud  laugh- 
ter when  Mademoiselle  Marguerite,  who  had  hardly 
understood  a  single  word  of  all  that  Amor  had  said,  but 
who  clearly  saw  from  the  laughter  of  her  friends  that 
something  particularly  witty  had  been  uttered,  turned 
round  to  Sophie  and  asked  aloud  :  "  I  do  not  understand, 
quest  ce  quil  dit?  " 

Amor  was  clever  enough  to  fall  in  with  his  own 
hearty  laugh ;  but  immediately  he  continued  with 
greater  gravity  than  before  : 

"  Then  comes  the  youth  in  greatest  haste 
And  begs  of  me,  who  am  Amor  chaste, 
*  With  sharpest  arrow  hit,  I  pray. 
That  wicked  girl,  so  that  she  may — '  " 

With  these  words  Amor  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart : 

"  '  Hereafter  know  how  one  does  feel 
When  one  does  love  her  with  true  zeal.' 
And  I  replied  :  *  my  dear  good  boy, 
I  help  you  forthwith  with  this  toy. 
The  sharpest  arrow  that  is  here, 
I'll  shoot  it  at  her  from  quite  near, 
Whoever  feels  this  sharp,  good  dart. 
With  love  will  burn  deep  in  his  heart.'  " 

Amor  showed  the  arrow  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
quiver  while  reciting  the  last  words.  To  the  India-rub- 
ber ball  a  slip  of  paper  was  fastened  on  which  some- 
thing was  written,  though  it  could  not  be  read  at  such 
a  distance.  He  aimed  at  Mademoiselle  Marguerite  and 
called  out  with  a  loud  voice, 

" '  If  that's  not  good  to  awaken  love. 
Tell  me  what  better  is,  my  dear  sweet  dove  ? '  " 

The  arrow  flew  from  the  bow  into  Mademoiselle  Mar- 
guerite's lap.  But  Amor  did  not  wait  for  the  results  of 
his  heroic  deed  ;  he  turned  his  back,  adorned  with  the 
goose  wings,  and  hurried  out,  followed  by  the  loud 
laughter  of  the  company. 

"  What  is  on  the  paper,  Marguerite  ?  " 


334  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  You  must  let  us  see  the  paper,  mademoiselle  !  " 

"  Of  course ! "  cried  Sophie,  Franz,  and  the  privy- 
councillor,  who  was  highly  amused  by  Bemperlein's 
unexpected  dramatic  farce.  But  Marguerite  had  hardly 
cast  a  glance  at  the  paper,  than  her  expressive  face  was 
covered  with  deep  blushes.  She  tore  off  the  paper  hur- 
riedly and  threw  it  into  the  fire-place.  But  Sophie,  who 
had  anticipated  this,  pushed  the  paper  aside  before  the 
flames  could  seize  it,  snatched  it  up  and  called  out,  "  I 
have  it !  I  have  it!"  Marguerite  wanted  to  take  the 
precious  document  from  her,  but  Sophie  ran  away  with 
it.  Marguerite  followed  her,  while  Franz  and  the  privy 
councillor  laughed  heartily  at  the  efforts  of  the  little 
Lacerte  to  reach  up  to  the  raised  arm  of  Sophie,  who 
was  head  and  shoulders  higher.  In  their  haste  the 
young  ladies  rushed  at  the  door  just  as  Bemperlein,  who 
had  in  the  meantime  laid  aside  his  Olympian  attributes, 
was  coming  back,  and  thus  it  happened  that  Marguerite, 
unable  to  check  her  rapid  course,  ran  right  into  his 
arms. 

"  Behold  the  sacred  power  of  the  god  !  "  exclaimed 
Sophie,  as  she  saw  this,  exulting.  "  Here,  Marguerite, 
is  your  paper.  I  do  not  care  to  see  now  what  was  writ- 
ten on  the  prescription,  since  I  have  seen  the  effect." 

With  these  words  she  made  a  deep  courtesy  and 
handed  Marguerite  the  paper,  who  hid  it  hurriedly  iu 
her  bosom. 

"  That  was  well  done,  Bemperly,"  said  the  young  lady 
in  her  exuberance  of  merriment.  "  I  must  embrace  you 
for  it." 

Hereupon  she  seized  the  blusliing  god  of  love  by  the 
shoulders  and  gave  him  a  hearty  kiss  on  the  brow. 

"  I  call  you  to  be  my  witness,  privy  councillor,"  said 
Bemperlein,  "  that  the  ladies  are  fighting  who  is  to  have 
me,  without  my  making  the  slightest  advances,  and  that 
if  Franz  challenges  me,  I  am  not  bound  to  give  him  sat- 
isfaction." 

Bemperlein  had  brought  new  spirit  into  the  company, 
and  henceforth  laughter  and  merriment  were  the  order 
of  the  day.  The  good  humor  of  the  circle  rose  in  pro- 
portion as  the   level   sank  in  the   punch-bowl.     Only 


Through  Night  to  Light.  335 

Marguerite  was  more  quiet  than  before ;  but  the  joke 
had  been  carried  quite  far  enough,  and  they  did  not 
tease  her  any  more  ;  they  pretended  even  not  to  notice 
her,  when  she  left  her  seat  near  the  fire-place  and  began 
to  walk  up  and  down  in  the  room,  evidently  buried  in 
thought.  Franz,  Sophie,  and  the  privy  councillor  were 
soon  engaged  in  weighty  family  matters,  and  did  not 
observe,  therefore,  that  Bemperlein  also  had  risen  qui- 
etly, and  joining  Marguerite,  had  commenced  a  conver- 
sation in  a  low  tone  with  her,  which  soon  became  so 
interesting  that  they  had  to  adjourn  to  the  deep  bay- 
window,  where  the  broad  folds  of  a  heavy  curtain  pro- 
tected them  safely  against  the  glances  of  the  company. 
Unfortunately,  however,  the  stuff  of  which  the  curtains 
were  made  was  not  thick  enough  to  break  all  the  sound- 
waves completely,  and  thus  it  happened  that  after  the 
lapse  of  perhaps  five  minutes  those  near  the  fire  were 
suddenly  startled  by  a  noise  which  came  from  the  win- 
dow, and  evidently  arose  from  the  sudden  parting  of  the 
lips  of  two  people,  after  they  had  rested  upon  each  other 
for  some  time. 

The  origin  of  this  very  remarkable  sound  was  the 
following: 

The  happy  couple  had — quite  accidentally — wandered 
off  into  the  bay-window ;  Mademoiselle  Marguerite  had 
at  once  desired  to  turn  back  again,  but  Bemperlein,  bold 
as  a  lion,  had  seized  her  hand  and  said  most  impres- 
sively : 

"  Have  you  read  what  was  on  the  paper  "i  " 

Marguerite  had  read  it,  of  course,  but  she  would  not 
have  been  a  little  Lacerte  if  she  had  not  answered  the 
direct  question  by  saying:  "  JVon  monsieur T 

"  May  I  then  tell  you  what  it  was.'*  " 

The  little  Lacerte  began  thereupon  to  tremble  a  little, 
not  daring  to  say  yes  or  no  ;  Mr.  Anastasius  Bemperlein, 
however,  interpreting  her  silence  and  her  trembling  in 
his  favor,  placed  his  arm  around  the  slender  waist  of  the 
little  Lacerte,  and  whispered :  '■^Mademoiselle  Marguerite 
Martin^  je  vous  aime  de  tout  mon  coeur?  " 

As  she  only  trembled  the  more  after  this  loyal  decla- 
ration, and  yet  did  not  make  any  effort  to  escape  from 


2;^6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

the  arms  of  her  knight,  he  said  in  a  still  lower  and  more 
iijipressive  voice : 

"  Marguerite  !  do  answer !  Do  j-ou  love  me  ?  Yes, 
or  no? " 

As  Marguerite  had  answered  this  question  with  a  very- 
faint  "  Old  !  "  there  was  nothing  left  to  do,  for  a  man  so 
perfectly  at  home  in  love  affairs  as  Mr.  Anastasius  Bem- 
perlein  was,  but  to  hold  the  lady  more  firmly  in  his 
arms  and  to  press  a  loud-sounding  kiss  upon  her  unre- 
sisting lips. 

And  this  kiss  Avas  the  noise  which  suddenly  started  the 
company  at  the  fire-place.  They  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence.  The  privy  councillor  smiled  ;  but  Franz  and 
Sophie,  who  had  not  quite  so  much  self-control,  broke 
out  into  loud  laughter. 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  the  little  Laccrte,  slipping, 
full  of  terror,  out  of  the  arms  of  her  knight. 

"Be  quiet!"  replied  the  knight.  "  They  must  learn 
it  anyhow,"  said  he,  and  seized  the  little  lady  by  the  hand, 
drew  back  the  curtain,  stepped,  like  the  page  in  Schil- 
ler's Diver,  "  bold  and  brave  "  before  his  friends,  and 
spoke : 

"  My  friends,  I  have  tlie  inexpressible  pleasure  of 
presenting  to  you  my  dear  betrothed,  Miss  Marguerite 
Martin  !  " 

As  Bemperlein  had  initiated  Sophie,  under  the  seal  of 
secrecy,  into  his  secret,  and  as  the  latter  had  communi- 
cated it  under  the  same  seal  to  Franz,  and  to  her  father, 
nobody  could  exactly  be  said  to  be  much  surprised,  es- 
pecially after  the  scene  with  Amor  and  the  kiss  in  the 
bay-window.  For  all  that  the  congratulations  were 
none  the  less  hearty.  The  men  shook  hands  cordially, 
Sophie  kissed  Marguerite  with  more  feeling  than  she 
usually  showed,  and  it  was  some  time  before  the  stirred- 
up  waves  of  deep  emotion  subsided  again  and  left  the 
surface  once  more  calm  and  clear. 

"  We  must  authenticate  such  an  event  by  a  correspond- 
ing solemnity,"  said  the  privy  councillor,  who  rang  tlie 
bell,  and  ordered  the  servant  who  came  in  to  bring  up 
the  last  of  twelve  bottles  of  "  Johannisberg  Cabinet," 
which  a  sovereign  once  had  presented  to  him  after  hav- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  337 

ing  been  saved  by  the  skill  of  the  physician.  And  when 
tlie  noble  wine  was  sparkling  in  the  glasses,  he  said  : 

"  My  dear  ones  !  In  the  hour  of  joy  we  can  easily 
speak  of  past  sorrow,  and,  therefore,  I  propose  to  place 
the  merry,  pretty  picture  before  us  in  a  dark  frame,  which 
will  make  its  bright  colors  appear  all  the  more  beautiful. 
While  I  was  lying  these  last  days  helpless  on  my  sick- 
bed— I,  whose  office  and  duty  it  is  to  help  wherever  I  can 
help — a  word  has  constantly  corae  back  to  me,  a  plain- 
tive, tearful  word,  which  once  the  poor  Roman  plebeians, 
overwhelmed  with  hard  service,  cried  out  before  the  pa- 
tricians :  '  Sine  missione  nascimur  ! ' — that  means,  you  girls, 
'  We  are  born  to  have  no  leave  of  absence  !  '  You  do 
not  care  whether  our  strength  is  used  up  in  the  endless 
wars  which  you  carry  on  in  the  name  of  our  country, 
but  for  your  own  good  profit  and  advantage  only  ;  or 
whether  our  lands  lie  fallow  and  our  wives  and  children 
are  dying  in  misery.  To  arms  !  to  arms  !  you  call  from 
year's  end  to  year's  end ;  and  we  have  to  serve  from 
year's  end  to  year's  end  :  *  sine  missione  nascimur  I '  " 

The  privy  councillor  drank  from  his  glass  and  contin- 
lied,  with  deeply-moved  voice  : 

"  We  also,  we — the  children  of  this  nineteenth  century 
— are  born  to  have  no  leave  of  absence.  The  enormous 
tasks  given  us  in  science,  in  politics,  in  every  depart- 
ment of  human  activity,  claim  from  childhood  up  all 
our  powers  and  consume  thern  entirely.  To  arms!  to 
arms!  This  is  the  unceasing  cry  which  summons  us 
also,  whether  our  arms  are  the  pen  or  the  brush,  the 
plough  or  the  hammer,  the  compass  or  the  lancet.  And 
work — inexorable,  imperious  work — what  does  it  care 
for  the  workman  } — whether  his  temples  are  beating  with 
fever,  whether  his  brain  is  overwrought  to  insanity,  or 
his  limbs  are  trembling  from  exhaustion — work  doL'S 
not  mind  it.  It  rewards  him  with  poverty,  sickness,  and 
suffering,  and  demands  of  the  ill-treated,  the  oppressed, 
the  labors  of  Hercules.  Yes,  my  friends,  we  also  are 
plebeians  in  the  service  of  work  as  those  Roman  plebe- 
ians in  the  service  of  war,  and  we  can  complain  with 
them  and  say,  '■sine  missione  nasci/nur.' 

"  And  yet,  I  asked  myselfi  how  is  it  possible  that  we, 
15 


338  Through  Night  to  Light. 

weaklings  and  degenerate  offspring  as  we  are,  can  accom- 
plish deeds  by  the  side  of  which  those  of  Hercules  and 
other  heroes  appear  like  the  play  of  pigmies  ?  That  our 
times,  so  often  reproached  on  account  of  the  prevail- 
ing laxity  and  indifference,  nevertheless  is  like  a  trem- 
bling mountain,  which  produces  not  a  ridiculous  mouse, 
but  snorting  stearn-engines,  gigantic  works  of  indus-« 
try  and  triumphs  of  inventive  genius  of  every  kind? 
It  is  possible  only  by  the  complete  change  which  has 
taken  place  in  the  relative  position  of  men.  Then, 
work  and  conflict  were  in  the  hands  of  a  few  heroes, 
while  the  masses  were  following  in  idleness  and  lazi- 
ness Avith  loud  cries.  Now  the  individual,  however 
great  he  may  be,  counts  for  little  ;  the  whole  strength 
of  our  day  lies  in  the  masses,  which  are  pressing  for- 
ward in  close  columns,  slowly  but  irresistibly,  in  the 
path  of  progress.  This  is  not  yet  clearly  seen  by  many. 
Rulers,  princes,  and  princes'  servants,  who  have  a  dim 
apprehension  of  the  matter,  would  like  to  bring  back 
the  olden  times  for  the  sake  of  their  brutal  selfishness 
and  their  frivolous  vanity — the  times  when  the  individual 
was  everything  and  the  masses  nothing ;  but  it  is  all  in 
vain.  The  army  of  progress,  endowed  with  the  death- 
defying  instinct  of  the  migratory  lemur,  marches  on  in 
long,  unnumbered  lines,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  each  man 
stepping  in  the  footsteps  of  the  man  before  him,  and 
wheil  here  and  there  a  vacant  space  occurs  the  lines  are 
closed  up  again  in  an  instant. 

"  And  this  thought,  my  friends,  which  I  tried  to  see 
clearly  before  my  mind's  eye,  had  something  marvel- 
lously soothing  for  me.  I  thought,  what  does  it  matter 
whether  you  break  down  to-day  or  to-morrow.'*  Be- 
hind you  follows  a  younger  and  stronger  soldier  w-ho 
will  at  once  step  over  you,  fill  your  place,  and  accom- 
plish with  the  very  arms  which  fall  from  your  releasing 
grasp  greater  things  than  you  could  ever  have  done." 

As  he  said  these  words,  the  privy  councillor  pressed 
his  son-in-law's  hand;  but  Sophie,  who  liad  long  strug- 
gled with  lier  tears,  threw  herself  sobbing  in  her  father's 
arms. 

-  No,  no,  my  child,"  said  her  father,  stroking  her  soft 


Through  Night  to  Light.  339 

hair  lovingly.  "  You  must  not  crj' ;  I  wanted  to  prove 
to  you,  and  to  you  all,  that  we  must  not  weep  and  wail, 
but  rejoice  at  it,  that  we  are  invincible  and  immortal  in 
others  and  through  others.  Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  and  a 
true  saying,  which  I  read  to-day  in  Freiligrath's  Confes- 
sion of  Faith  :  '  On  the  tree  of  mankind  blossom  blooms 
by  blossom.'  I  see  all  around  me  budding  and  bloom- 
ing; a  whole  spring  of  mankind  in  miniature.  How 
long  will  it  be  before  these  buds  and  blossoms  will 
change  into  glorious  flowers,  and  ripen  to  luscious  fruit.'' 
Will  I  live  to  see  it  i*  I  Avish  to  do  so,  I  hope  so  ;  but 
even  if  it  should  not  be  so — if  I  should  not  be  permitted 
to  see  your  children  at  my  knee — well,  then,  you  dear 
ones,  sorrow  must  follow  joy  as  joy  follows  sorrow ; 
where  blossom  is  to  crowd  upon  blossom,  there  the  dry 
w^ood  must  be  cut  out  and  thrown  into  the  oven ;  and  if 
we  must  part,  we  had  better  part,  if  not  cheerfully,  at 
least  bravely." 

While  the  privy  councillor  had  been  speaking,  a  dull 
sound  of  steps  and  the  confused  noise  of  suppressed 
voices  had  been  heard  before  the  windows  in  the  street. 
Then  all  had  been  silent  again ;  and  as  the  privy  coun- 
cillor said  his  last  words  there  arose  suddenly,  in  the 
magnificent  tones  of  an  immense  choius  of  men's  voices, 
gentle  like  the  spring  breezes,  and  yet  mighty  like  a 
thunderstorm,  the  song  : 

"  It  is  decreed  in  God's  own  council 
That  thou  must  part 
From  all  that's  dearest  to  the  heart ; 
Altho'  in  all  this  world  the  hardest  is 
To  human  heart 
From  those  we  love  for  e'er  to  part !  " 

Those  in  the  room  were  startled  as  if  a  voice  from  on 
high  were  speaking  to  them.  Sophie  leaned  sobbing  on 
her  father's  breast;  the  eyes  of  the  men  were  brimful  of 
tears ;  Marguerite  even,  although  she  did  not  understand 
a  word,  was  yet  so  excited  that  she  pressed  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  face  and  wept  aloud. 

Then  all  rose  and  went  to  the  bay-window.  Below, 
in  the  very  wide  street,  and  forming  a  large  semicircle 
marked  out  by  bright  lamps,  stood  the  singers — members 


340  Through  Night  to  Light. 

of  the  Mechanics'  Club,  which  the  privy  councillor  had 
founded  years  ag'o,  and  whose  president  Franz  had  been 
during  the  last  weeks.  Further  out  an  immense  multi- 
tude, head  to  head — men  and  women,  citizens,  stu- 
dents, poor  people — all  pell-mell,  silent,  motionless,  as 
in  a  church. 

And  higher  rose  the  mighty  sounds : 

"  But  you  must  understand  me  right, 
When  men  do  part,  they  say  with  might, 
Till  we  meet  again  ! 
Till  we  meet  again  !  " 

The  music  passed  away  ;  the  lamps  were  extinguished. 
Quietly  as  they  had  come  the  crowds  went  away.  It 
was  dark  again  in  the  street ;  but  in  the  hearts  of  those 
who  were  standing  up-stairs  in  the  bay-window,  hold- 
ing each -.'other  in  close  embrace,  it  was  bright,  like  a 
sunny  morning  in  May. 


CHAPTER     VIII. 

THE  great  woods  of  Berkow  are  leafless.  Where 
formerly  birds  were  singing  in  the  green  twi- 
light, and  beetles  and  midges  humming  drowsily, 
there  the  cold  autumnal  winds  are  now  whistling  through 
the  bare  branches  ;  and  where  dry  leaves  are  yet  hanging 
on  old  oak-trees,  they  no  longer  whisper  to  each  other 
lovingly  as  in  the  beautiful  summer  time,  but  rustle 
weird  and  woefully.  Only  the  evergreens  look  as  if  the 
season  could  do  them  no  harm ;  but  their  fine  foliage 
also  is  darker,  and  they  look  now,  when  all  around  is 
bare,  blacker  and  more  dismal  than  ever. 

Rough  autumn  has  blown  through  the  thick  yew- 
hedge  and  into  the  garden  behind  the  castle,  has  swept 
the  flowers  from  tlie  whole  parterre,  and  filled  the  trim 
walks  with  withered  wet  leaves.  On  the  terrace,  under 
the  broad  branching  pine-tree,  the  favorite  place  of  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  the  little  round  table  with  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  341 

marble  slab  is  still  standing,  because  it  is  deeply  rooted 
in  the  ground,  but  the  green  benches  and  chairs  have 
been  carried  into  the  garden-house. 

The  open  place  before  the  house,  which  is  divided  oft" 
by  a  railing  from  the  farm-buildings,  looks  melancholy. 
The  shutters  on  this  side  of  the  house  are  almost  al- 
ways closed,  and  are  only  now  and  then  opened  by  a 
wrinkled  old  hand,  whereupon  often,  as  just  now  for 
instance,  the  wrinkled  old  face  that  belongs  to  the  hand, 
\vith  its  icy  gray  moustache,  looks  out  for  a  few  minutes 
to  watch  a  wagon  heavily  laden  with  wood,  which  four 
powerful  horses  can  hardly  drag  through  the  deep  mud 
at  the  side  entrance  to  the  yard  between  two  barns, 
where  even  in  summer  the  passage  is  often  quite  dan- 
gerous. The  old  man  contracts  his  brows  angrily  as  he 
sees  the  servant  whip  the  horses  furiously,  amid  calls 
and  cries  and  curses.  He  grumbles  something  about 
infamous  fellow  !  in  his  gray  beard  ;  but  he  no  longer 
raises  his  voice  to  give  vent  to  a  powerful  oath  or  so,  as 
he  used  to  do;  for  after  all  it  is  not  the  servant's  fault, 
but  the  tenant's,  who  has  not  been  prevailed  upon  these 
five  years  to  mend  the  road.  This  tenant  is  every  Avay 
a  vessel  of  wrath  for  the  old  man.  He  keeps  his  cattle 
in  bad  order  ;  he  is  cruel  to  his  hands;  in  the  third  place 
he  knows,  according  to  the  old  man's  notions,  nothing 
of  farming  ;  and,  finally,  he  has  a  red  nose,  and  is  always 
hoarse,  two  peculiarities  attributed  to  brandy,  and  equally 
disgusting  to  the  old  man's  eyes  and  ears.  And,  above 
all,  the  terrible  prospect  of  never  losing  sight  of  this  man 
for  the  whole  of  his  life  (for  his  term  has  twenty  years 
more  to  rim,  and  the  old  man  is  not  going  to  live  so 
long) ;  to  have  to  drag  him  along,  so  to  say,  till  his  blessed 
end,  like  the  abominable  ball  which  the  old  man  received 
in  his  leg  on  the  battle-field  of  Waterloo,  and  which  is 
still  there  to  this  hour — no,  worse  than  this  ball,  for 
that  only  hurts  in  spring  and  in  fall,  and  whenever  the 
weather  is  not  as  it  ought  to  be.  But  this  rascal  of  a 
tenant — and  the  old  man  abandoned  his  thoughts  to  this 
unprofitable  and  inexhaustible  subject,  fixing  his  eyes 
all  the  while  upon  the  bleaching  bones  of  a  buzzard 
which   he   had    shot  many  years  ago,  and  which  (as  a 


342  Through  Night  to  Light. 

solemn  warning  to  all  evil-doers  in  the  air  and  on  the 
ground)  had  been  nailed  to  the  barn-door,  until  the 
voice  of  a  boy,  who  has  just  come  from  the  garden  and 
is  looking  around  the  ya,rd,  comes  up  to  his  ear : 

"  Hallo  !  Baumann  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  this  voice  the  face  of  the  old  man 
clears  up,  as  when  a  ray  of  sunlight  passes  over  a  rough 
Alpine  landscape.  It  is  the  same  voice,  at  least  the 
same  tone  of  voice,  which  has  warmed  the  old  man's 
heart  now  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  and  longer.  He 
rests  both  his  elbows  on  the  window-sill  and  looks  down 
upon  the  handsome  uplifted  face  of  the  boy  with  the 
light-brown,  hearty  eyes. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  young  gentleman?  " 

"  Wont  you  take  a  ride  with  me,  Baumann  ?  " 

The  old  man  casts  a  glance  of  inquiry  at  the  sky, 
where  dark,  heavy  clouds  are  hanging  low,  looks  down 
again,  and  says  : 

"  It  looks  threatening,  sir.  I  think  we  shall  have  rain, 
and  perhaps  snow,  in  half  an  hour ;  that  is  more  than 
vraisemblable. 

"  Why,  Baumann,  you  always  have  something  to  say," 
says  the  handsome  boy,  grumbling;  "the  pony  is  get- 
ting stiff  from  standing  so  long,  and  I  should  like  so 
much  to  take  a  ride." 

"  Well,  well,"  says  the  old  man  ;  "  we  were  only  yes- 
terday all  the  Avay  to  Cona." 

"  That  is  a  great  thing  !  Three  miles  !  And  the  doc- 
tor says  I  ought  to  ride  every  day." 

"  Oh,  if  the  doctor  says  so,  I  presume  we  must  do  it," 
replied  Baumann,  who  has  only  been  waiting  for  a  good 
pretext  to  give  way  without  dishonor.  "  I  will  just 
open  the  windows  in  the  parlor  here,  and  then  I'll  come 
down.  In  the  meantime  go  ask  the  baroness,  and  say 
good-by  to  her." 

"  Yes;    but  make  haste." 

"Well,  well,"  says  the  old  man,  and  his  gray  head 
disappears  from  the  window. 

The  boy  hurries  back  into  the  house,  but  his  mother  is 
not  to  be  found  in  the  "garden-room,"  where  she  com- 
monly sits;  nor  in  the  "red-room"  adjoining,  to  which 


Through  Night  to  Light.  343 

she  retires  Avhen  she  wishes  to  be  alone.  The  boy 
hurries  from  the  garden-room — leaving  the  door,  of 
course,  wide  open — into  the  garden,  and  down  the  long 
walk  between  the  clipped  yews  of  the  terrace.  As  he 
does  not  find  the  mother  here,  and  yet  is  in  such  a  very 
great  hurry,  he  considers  whether  he  has  not  done  all  that 
could  be  done.  He  hesitates  for  a  moment,  and  is  just 
about  to  turn  back,  when  it  occurs  to  him  that  Baumann 
is  sure  to  ask  him,  sometime  during  their  ride :  Young 
gentleman,  did  you  say  good-by  to  the  baroness }  and 
that  he  would  be  ashamed  to  have  to  say.  No  !  He 
jumps  with  one  leap  down  the  steps  which  lead  to  the 
terrace  and  runs  deeper  into  the  garden,  calling  out 
from  time  to  time  :  "  Mamma  !  Mamma  !" 

"Here!"  replies  suddenly  a  female  voice  quite  near; 
and  as  he  turns  quickly  rovmd  a  bush,  which  has  been 
so  well  sheltered  by  old  linden-trees  that  it  has  almost 
all  its  leaves  yet,  he  nearly  rushes  into  his  mother's 
arms  : 

"  What  is  the  matter,  wild  one }  "  says  Melitta,  placing 
her  hands  upon  the  boy's  shoulders. 

"  We  are  going  to  ride  out,"  says  the  boy,  who  is  in 
such  a  hurry  that  he  can  hardly  speak. 

"  But  the  sky  looks  very  threatening." 

"  Oh,  Baumann  says — no,  Baumann  says  the  same. 
But  I  am  so  anxious  to  ride  !  Please,  dear  mamma, 
please!" 

"  If  it  were  not  so  late,"  said  Melitta,  looking  at  her 
watch,  "  I  should  like  to  go  with  you." 

"  Oh  pray,  mamma,  do  that  another  time.  You  would 
have  to  change  your  dress,  and  then  it  may  really  com- 
mence snowing,  and  then  we  can't  go  at  all." 

"  You  may  be  right,"  replied  Melitta,  unconsciously 
smiling  at  the  boy's  naive  egotism.  "  Then  make  haste 
and  get  away.     But  put  on  an  overcoat." 

She  kisses  the  boy  on  his  red  lips,  and  the  boy  runs 
away  delighted.  Five  m.inutcs  later  old  Baumann  has 
himself  saddled  the  boy's  pony — he  never  allows  the 
grooms  to  saddle  either  the  pony  or  Melitta's  horse — 
and  the  two  gallop  out  of  the  main  gate  into  the  bare 
fields. 


344  Through  Night  to  Light. 

When  the  boy  had  left  her,  Melitta  resumed  her  walk 
in  the  avenues  between  the  cunningly-trimmed  hedges 
of  beech-trees  and  the  yew-pyramids.  They  were  the 
same  avenues  tlirough  which  she  had  walked  on  a  beau- 
tiful summer  afternoon  Avhen  the  sun  was  sending  down 
red  rays  through  the  green  foliage  above  upon  the 
flower-beds  in  all  their  splendor,  arm  in  arm  with  Os- 
wald !  How  the  scene  had  changed  since  then  !  Where 
are  the  red  rays  of  the  sun  now  ?  where  the  green 
leaves  ?  and  where  the  bright  flowers  ?  Is  this  the 
same  earth  that  exhaled  a  soft,  balsamic  breath,  like  the 
kiss  of  a  loved  one  ?  the  same  earth  which  shone  in  its 
wedding  garment  ?  which  embraced  the  high  sky  like  a 
bride  in  the  light  of  countless  stars  ?  And  she,  herself — 
she  had  changed  almost  as  much ;  but  in  her,  summer  has 
not  changed  into  winter.  She  has  altered,  but  surely 
not  for  the  worse. 

As  she  now  turns  round,  having  reached  the  end  of 
the  long  walk,  and  is  coming  up  again  in  the  pale  light 
of  the  autumnal  evening,  she  can  be  better  seen  than 
before.  How  graceful  and  light  her  step  is!  How 
delicately  slender  her  figure  appears  as  she  now  draws 
the  silk  shawl  closer  around  her  sloping  shoulders  and 
wraps  it  around  her  arms !  How  prettily  the  black 
fichu  which  she  has  tied  over  her  head,  fastening  it 
under  the  chin,  frames  the  lovely  oval  of  her  fair  face ! 
And  how  much  more  clearly  the  expression  of  good- 
ness of  heart,  which  always  made  the  handsome  face  so 
attractive,  strikes  the  observer  now  !  And  yet  the  soft 
brown  eyes  look  so  much  graver  !  the  charming  mouth, 
whose  red  lips  formerly  looked  as  if  they  were  made 
only  to  kiss  and  to  laugh,  now  is  firm  and  resolute.  It 
looks  as  if  the  beautiful  and  noble  psyclie  of  the  woman 
had  freed  itself  of  all  that  formerly  held  it  in  chains, 
and  was  now  free  from  the  mists  of  sensual  thoughts, 
lighting  up  the  sweet,  kindly  face  in  all  its  nobility  and 
beauty  as  the  chaste  light  of  the  moon  lights  up  a  soft, 
warm  summer  night. 

What  is  she  thinking  of  as  she  now  comes  slowly 
down  the  walk,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.-'  First 
of  all,  probably,  of  her  son,  who  is  recovering  his  full, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  345 

rosy  cheeks,  and  growing  up  so  strong  and  so  hearty, 
just  as  Doctor  Birkenhain  has  predicted.  She  has  writ- 
ten to  Doctor  Birkenhain  to-day  to  congratulate  him 
and  herself  on  the  fulfilment  of  his  prophecy.  Then  as 
she  passes  a  little  niche  in  the  hedge  where  a  low  bench 
is  still  leaning  against  a  small  table — it  must  have  es- 
caped the  eyes  of  old  Baumann — she  stops  for  a  moment. 
On  this  bench  she  sat  on  that  eventful  summer  afternoon 
with  Oswald,  when  they  had  watched  two  white  butter- 
flies who  were  hovering  on  their  delicate  wings  over  the 
flower  forests  of  the  parterre  and  caught  each  other  and 
chased  each  other  and  then  rose  into  the  blue  ether,  em- 
bracing each  other,  then  parting  again  to  flutter  hither 
and  thither  into  the  green  wilderness.  "  Will  those 
butterflies  ever  meet  again  in  life  1  "  she  had  asked  Os- 
wald; and  he  had  answered:  "That  may  happen,  but 
whether  they  meet  with  the  same  delight,  that  is  an- 
other question."  She  had  not  seen  Oswald  again  since 
the  first  night  when  she  left  for  Fichtenan.  If  she  should 
meet  him  again  !  She  started  at  the  idea,  for  she  felt  that 
she  wished  it.  Had  she  not  loved  him  very,  very  much  ? 
Had  she  not  been  unspeakably  happy  with  him  ?  But 
no  !  Prudence  and  pride  commanded  her  to  forget  the 
faithless  man  who  knew  only  how  to  conquer  but  not 
how  to  preserve  his  conquests. 

She  crossed  her  hands  more  firmly  across  her  bosom, 
and  her  face  looked  almost  dark,  as  she  went  on;  but 
soon  it  brightened  up  again,  and  now  she  laughs  to  her- 
self. What  is  it.''  She  cannot  help  it.  She  must  think 
of  the  expression  in  Oldenburg's  face  as  she  said  the 
other  night,  when  the  weather  was  so  terrible  and  he 
was  just  rising  to  say  good-by  and  to  ride  home,  "Had 
you  not  better  stay  over  night,  Adalbert  ?  "  and  he  had 
cast  one  sharp  glance  at  her,  and  then  refused  the  invi- 
tation Avith  a  certain  haste  and  embarrassment.  Olden- 
burg, whose  morality  was  constantly  decried  so  bitterly; 
who  had  the  reputation  of  having  had  countless  liaisons 
daiigcreuses  in  his  life;  so  carefully  anxious,  so  tenderly 
concerned,  for  the  good  repute  of  a  widow !  Why  did 
he  treat  her  so  differently  from  all  other  women,  of 
whom  he  got  tired  so  soon.!*  Will  he  come  to-night .'' 
15* 


346  Through  Night  to  Light. 

The  hour  has  passed  at  which  the  hoof  of  his  Almansor 
is  commonly  heard  on  the  pavement  of  the  yard.  The 
young  widow  looks  anxiously  up  to  the  dark  clouds, 
which  are  threatening  more  and  more,  and  from  which 
now  a  few  scattered  snow-flakes  begin  to  drop  silently, 
the  first  of  the  season,  but  melting  in  a  few  moments  on 
the  black  ground.  If  Julius  only  would  not  ride  too  far  ! 
But  old  Baumann  is  with  him,  and  that  ought  to  be 
enough  for  the  most  anxious  heart.  Perhaps  they  have 
gone  over  to  Cona  and  will  return  with  Oldenburg,  who 
has  forgotten  the  hour  over  his  books.  They  will  be 
half-frozen  Avhen  they  come ;  it  would  be  better  to  get 
tea  ready  for  them. 

Melitta  hastened  back  to  the  house  and  ordered  sup- 
per, and  sent  for  the  lamp,  for  it  is  quite  dark  now,  and 
she  would  like  to  look  a  little  at  Oldenburg's  diary. 
He  had  read  to  her  not  long  ago  some  of  his  notes 
about  his  travels  in  Egypt,  and  as  he  could  not  finish 
them  that  night  he  had  left  the  book  and  asked  her  to  read 
it  for  herself;  and  as  she  laughingly  reminded  him  of 
the  danger  of  letting  a  lady  read  his  diary,  he  had  replied : 
"  In  that  book,  as  in  my  heart,  there  in  nothing  that  you 
may  not  know."  On  the  contrary,  he  had  desired  she 
should  read  it  all;  he  did  not  wish  to  appear  better  or 
differently  from  what  he  was.  That  was  speaking 
boldly ;  and,  Melitta  soon  became  convinced,  acting 
boldly.  For  there  were  strange  things  recorded  in 
these  sketches,  thrown  off  with  a  daring  hand.  Here 
the  traveller's  glance  had  rested  on  the  voluptuous 
charms  of  dancing  Ghawazels.  There  half-naked  In- 
dian women  are  standing  by  the  shore  turning  the 
creaking  wheel  of  the  Sauia  in  the  burning  heat  of  the 
sun.  There,  on  the  market-place  of  Asyut,  black  slaves 
are  crouching,  who  had  but  yesterday  come  down  from 
Darfoor  on  the  large  Nile  boats.  But  amid  all  these 
sketches  not  one  single  trait  of  frivolous  sensuality  ! 
He  describes  the  dancing  of  these  children  of  the 
Sun  with  the  calm  words  of  a  professional  critic.  He 
curses  when  he  sees  the  poor  women  at  the  waterworks, 
the  tyrannical  government  which  forces  even  helpless 
women  to  work  for  cruel  taxes,  and  on  the  slave-market 


Through  Night  to  Light.  347 

at  As)'ut  his  heart  is  heavy  with  grief  that  man  should 
permit  the  image  of  God  to  sink  to  the  level  of  a  brute, 
or  even  below  !  "  Sorrow  !  sorrow  !  "  he  cries  ;  "  such 
as  man  cannot  imagine — and  the  most  sorrowful  is  that 
when  we  see  such  degradation  we  begin  to  despair  of 
man  himself,  for  we  cannot  help  acknowledging  to  our- 
selves that  beneath  the  civilized  sentiments  that  shine 
on  the  surface,  deep  down  in  the  darkness  of  our  heart 
the  same  fearful  passions  are  slumbering,  Avhich  here 
crop  out  in  all  their  shameless  nakedness,  merely  be- 
cause they  may  do  so  with  impunity  under  this  burning 
sun."  And  thus  he  shows  everywhere  the  deep,  serious 
mind  with  which  the  traveller  observes  the  manners  of 
men  abroad.  The  same  deep  love  with  which  he  ever 
makes  the  cause  of  himianity  his  own,  so  that  it  seems 
altogether  incomprehensible  how  this  man  could  ever 
be  looked  upon  as  an  eccentric  oddity  and  a  frivolous 
rom.  There  is  no  lack  even  of  statistical  tables,  reflections 
on  political  economy,  and  other  evidences  of  a  mind  not 
only  bold  and  deep,  but  also  learned  and  most  industri- 
ous. And  between  these  are  verses,  especially  on  the  first 
pages  of  the  diary,  which  are  evidently  of  a  much  earlier 
date  than  the  sketches  from  Egypt ;  at  least  this  is  clear  to 
those  who,  like  the  fair  reader  that  night,  are  sufficiently 
familiar  with  the  author's  life  to  recollect  the  different 
events  which  have  occasioned  one  or  the  other  poem. 

Thus  she  recalls  perfectly  well  how  the  baron,  then  a 
youth  of  perhaps  nineteen,  once  walked  with  a  young 
lady  who  was  then  perhaps  fifteen,  in  the  woods,  after 
they  had  just  eaten  a  philippine  at  table.  He  was  to 
lose  who  first  forgot  to  say  fypense  when  he  took  any- 
thing from  the  hand  of  the  other.  She  had  cunningly 
made  a  most  beautiful  bouquet,  and  when  the  young 
man  admired  the  flowers,  she  had  said  with  a  bashful 
smile,  "  Would  you  like  to  have  it,  Adalbert.''  "  And 
when  he,  blushing  at  the  unexpected  favor,  had  taken 
the  bouquet  without  saying  a  word,  she  had  clapped  her 
hands  and  cried  out,  '•'■  J'y  pense  !  fypense!  I  thought 
you  would  lose  it !  "  That  was  a  long  time  ago,  and  the 
ink  with  which  the  poem  was  written  had  faded  consid- 
erably.    The  poem  ran  thus  : 


348  Through  Night  to  Light. 

j'y  pense. 

I  know  a  little  maid — 

J'y  pense  ! 
With  eyes  deep  brown  and  staid — 

J'y  PENSE  ! 
Her  hair  in  brown  curls  fell, 
Her  laugh  was  like  a  silver  bell — 

J'y  pense  ! 

It  was  a  summer's  day — 

J'V    PENSE  ! 

The  wood  in  shadows  lay— 

J'y  pense  ! 
I  took  the  flowers  from  your  hand, 
You  laughed  at  me,  the  dreamer,  and, 

J'v  PENSE  !     j'y  pense  ! 

Oh,  I  forgot  the  word, 

J'y  PENSE  ! 
Now  sung  by  every  chord, 

J'y  PENSE  ! 
It  takes  my  happiness  and  rest. 
Oh,  maiden  say  and  be  ye  blessed, 

J'r  PENSE ! 

Not  all  poems  are  as  naive  and  full  of  hope  as  this, 
but  they  are  all  addressed  to  the  same  person. 

Later,  the  poems  become  rarer  and  make  way  for 
philosophical  and  political  rellections.  Only  on  one  of 
the  last  pages  there  was  written  in  a  very  bold  hand,  as 
if  the  sovil  of  the  writer  had  burnt  with  hope  and  love 
while  he  was  writing  the  lines : 

Yes,  thou  art  mine  !     I  have  aroused  to  life 

Thy  fair  but  cold  and  pallid  face  divine. 

I  gave  thee  life,  and  thuo  thou  art  now  mine  ! 

And  I  am  thine  !     For  all  my  mournful  strife 
Would  but  be  wandering  in  a  wilderness 
Without  thee,  therefore  I  am  thine  ! 

The  lady  Avas  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  let  her  hands 
fall  into  her  lap,  and  looked  for  a  time  fixedly  before 
her,  absorbed  in  deep  thought.  Arc  these  last  verses 
true  .?  "  I  gave  thee  life,  and  thus  thou  art  now  mine  !" 
I  owe  him  more  than  I  can  tell ;  he  lias  sown  the  golden 
seed  of  varied  knowledge  in  my  young  mind ;  and  if  I 


Through  Night  to  Light.  349 

can  look  higher  than  most  of  my  sex,  if  I  have  an  inter- 
est in  art  and  science,  if  I  have  a  heart  for  tlie  sick  and  the 
suffering — it  is  all  his  work.  And  who  has  ever  faith- 
fully stood  by  me  in  the  strife  of  life,  when  no  one  else 
troubled  himself  about  me  ?  He,  and  always  he  !  And 
yet,  if  I  thus  live  through  him  only,  do  I  therefore  really 
belong  to  him  ?  Melitta  rested  her  head  on  her  hands 
in  order  to  be  able  the  better  to  puzzle  out  this  enigma, 
which,  after  all,  the  heart  only  can  solve,  and  not  the 
head.  She  does  not  succeed,  therefore,  any  better  now 
than  before,  and  this  only  is  clear  to  her,  that  Oldenburg 
has  never  been  so  near  to  her  heart,  and  has  never  been 
so  dear  to  her  as  now.  But  now  for  the  reverse  of  the 
medal.  "Therefore  I  am  thine!  "  To  be  sure  he  has 
told  me  so  a  thousand  times  by  words  and  by  acts,  but 
— but — is  this  love,  which  dates  back  to  the  first  years  of 
his  boyhood,  which,  he  says,  he  has  carried  within  him 
through  all  the  changes  of  his  eventful  life }  is  it  more 
than  an  illusion,  such  as  is  not  uncommon  in  fanciful 
men — one  of  those  fixed  ideas  in  which  very  obstinate 
minds  take  delight .''  Is  it  not,  perhaps,  the  love  of  a  Don 
Quixote,  who  seeks  refuge  in  it  when  he  is  offended  by 
the  fearful  prose  of  everyday  life,  so  repugnant  to  the 
nature  of  a  great  and  noble  heart  ?  Is  it  not  but  too 
probable  that  this  mirage  may  look  charming  at  a  dis- 
tance, but  would  quickly  dissolve,  when  seen  near  by, 
into  ethereal  vapor.'' 

What  can  I  be  to  him  ?  Has  he  not  nobler  ends  to  live 
for  than  to  make  a  woman  happy  }  Can  so  restless  a 
mind  ever  restrict  itself  to  the  narrow  limits  of  a  family 
circle .'  May  not  what  he  now  aims  at  as  his  highest  hap- 
piness, soon  become  to  him  an  intolerable  chain.' 

Melitta  sighs  as  she  comes  to  this  hard  knot  in  her 
tissue.  She  has  mechanically  opened  the  book  once 
more,  and  as  she  turns  over  the  leaves  she  comes  to  a 
place  which  she  has  not  noticed  before : 

"  They  say  love  is  a  mere  luxury  for  men,  but  a  neces- 
sity for  women  ;  a  passez  cl  temps  for  the  former,  a  life's 
end  for  the  latter.  But  often  is  it  just  the  reverse  ! 
How  often  do  idle,  unoccupied  women  (I  speak  only  of 
the  wealthier  classes)  look  upon  love  as  a  mere  article 


35°  Through  Night  to  Light. 

of  luxury  with  so  many  others,  while  to  the  active  in- 
dustrious husband  it  is  a  pure  refreshing  element,  which 
gives  him  ever  new  courage  and  ever  new  strength  ! 
To  the  laborer  (and  after  all  every  man  is  a  laborer, 
from  the  president  of  a  cabinet  to  the  president's  boot- 
maker)— to  the  laborer,  night  is  the  reward  of  day,  as 
Virgil  says  beautifully.  And  to  this  must  be  added  : 
A  woman,  especially  a  beautiful  woman,  is  overwhelm- 
ed with  attentions  from  childhood  up  ;  wherever  she 
goes,  a  hundred  hands  are  ready  to  serve  her.  She  is 
always  surrounded  by  a  whole  court  of  flatterers  and 
admirers.  Is  it  not  very  natural  that  like  all  the  great 
of  the  earth,  she  is  likely  to  have  her  head  turned .''  that 
the  worship  of  a  single  one  cannot  count  for  much  Avith 
her .''  that  love  loses  its  value  because  of  the  abundance 
of  the  supply  !  But  man  !  if  he  is  not  exceptionally  a 
prince,  they  no  not  make  much  ceremony  with  him  in 
life.  At  school,  at  the  university,  he  may,  if  luck  favors 
him,  have  so-called  friends  who  help  him  to  bear  exis- 
tence ;  but  he  has  no  sooner  entered  upon  actual  life, 
than  the  host  of  friends  is  gone  and  forever,  and  he 
stands  alone  ;  he  must  bear  alone  his  sorrows,  his  neces- 
sities, and  what  is  almost  as  bad,  his  joys.  Society 
opens  for  him ;  but  when  } — after  he  has  succeeded;  and 
until  then  1 — till  then  he  has  to  journey  along  a  weary, 
dusty  road,  without  shade  and  without  resting-place, 
which  robs  him  of  the  best  part  of  his  life's  strength,  and 
his  life's  joy.  But  if  he  succeeds,  he  is  chastised  with 
scorpions,  if  he  was  before  chastised  with  whips.  Even 
his  friends  become  now  his  rivals  ;  and  he  finds  himself 
reduced  to  lean  on  his  own  strength,  his  own  courage, 
facing  a  world  in  arms,  a  world  without  pity,  delighting 
in  his  failures,  and  at  best  indifferent.  And  oh  !  what 
bliss,  if  now,  in  this  fearful  crowd,  a  soft  warm  hand 
seizes  his  own,  and  a  dear  voice  says  to  him,  *  Be  strong! 
persevere  !  if  all  abandon  you,  I  will  not  abandon  you  ; 
if  others  are  envious  of  your  triumphs,  they  will  make 
me  unspeakably  happy;  and  if  you  fail  in  your  work 
and  they  scoff  and  scorn  yovi,  or  if  yovi  succeed  and  they 
pass  you  with  cold  indifference,  then  you  shall  rest 
your  weary  head  on  this  bosom,  then  I  will   cool  your 


Through  Night  to  Light.  351 

feverish  brow  with  my  kisses,  I  will  pour  the  precious 
balm  of  good,  compassionate,  comforting  words  into 
your  poor,  torn  heart.'  Oh,  thrice  happy  man  ;  now  let 
the  world  do  its  worst,  you  tremble  not,  you  fear  not ! 
In  your  wife's  love  you  have  the  point  of  Archimedes, 
from  which  you  can  move  a  world. 

"  And  tlius  I  have  found  more  than  one  man  in  my  life 
who  was  attached  to  his  wife  with  a  love  which  was 
simply  unbounded,  which  burnt  with  the  steady  light 
of  the  north  star,  unchangeable,  through  the  night  of 
his  life.  And  certainly,  when  we  find  in  history  an  Ar- 
nold Winkelried,  who  defied  death  and  made  an  open- 
ing for  freedom  with  his  body — did  he  do  it  for  free- 
dom's sake.?  Yes!  For  his  country's  sake  .'  Yes!  But 
above  all,  he  did  it  for  the  sake  of  wife  and  children, 
who  were  to  him  more  than  freedom  and  country  and 
life  itself" 

Melitta  let  the  book  drop  into  her  lap  and  looked 
thoughtfully  down  ;  then  she  puts  it  again  on  the  table, 
rises  and  takes  an  album  from  a  bureau,  with  which  she 
sits  down  once  more  at  the  table.  In  the  album  there 
are  pencil  sketches,  and  sketches  in  charcoal  and  sepia, 
of  landscapes  and  portraits,  etc.  She  has  not  had 
the  album  in  her  hands  since  last  summer,  and  she  has 
not  taken  it  out  now  to  draw  or  to  paint.  She  searches 
till  she  comes  to  a  loose  leaf,  upon  which  the  profile  of  a 
man  is  lightly  sketched  in  bold  outlines.  In  the  corner 
are  the  letters  A.  V.  O.,  and  the  date,  July,  1844.  The 
leaf  has  not  come  loose  of  itself;  it  has  evidently  been 
torn  out.  What  unnecessary  trouble  we  give  ourselves 
by  indulging  in  a  moment's  caprice  !  now  the  detached 
leaf  has  to  be  carefully  glued  upon  another  !  Well !  it 
looks  quite  well  again  ;  but  alas  !  there  the  name  and 
the  date  have  been  cut  off.  What  is  to  be  done  .''  name 
and  date  must  be  upon  every  sketch.  The  young  widow 
takes  a  pencil  and  writes  :  Adalbert  von  Oldenburg ; 
the  22  November,  1847  ;  then  she  closes  the  album,  puts 
it  back  in  the  bureau,  and  goes  to  the  window. 

It  has  become  nearly  dark,  and  instead  of  single  flakes 
as  before,  the  snow  is  falling  pretty  thick  ;  nor  does  it 
melt  now  on  the  ground,  but  has  already  spread  a  thin, 


352  Through  Night  to  Light. 

white  cover  over  the  lawn.  Melitta  begins  to  be  troub- 
led about  the  long  absence  of  Julius.  Perhaps  he  has 
had  after  all  an  accident ;  or  perhaps  it  was  the  old  man. 
She  reproaches  herself  for  having  allowed  the  boy  to 
ride  out  so  late;  she  is  angry  at  Baumann,  that  he  at 
least  has  not  been  more  prudent.  And  Oldenburg,  too, 
is  not  coming.  If  he  were  here  she  would  ask  him  to 
ride  out  and  meet  the  two.  How  cheerfully  he  would 
doit! 

She  goes,  seriously  troubled,  to  the  dining-room,  to 
the  right  of  the  garden-room,  from  the  windows  of 
which  she  can  see  for  a  short  distance  the  road  which 
leads  through  the  wood  past  Grenwitz  to  Cona.  The 
snow  is  now  falling  so  fast  that  she  can  hardly  recog- 
nize any  more  the  edge  of  the  spruce  forest,  although  it 
is  only  a  few  hundred  yards  off.  She  opens  the  window 
and  leans  far  out,  unmindful  of  the  flakes  which  fall  on 
her  dark  hair  and  melt  on  her  brow.  Was  not  that  a 
horse's  hoof.''  There  they  are  coming  out  of  the  for- 
est, one,  two,  three  dark  figures:  Oldenburg,  the  old 
man,  and  between  them  Julius;  Almansor  and  Brown- 
locks  in  full  trot,  the  pony  between  them  at  full  gallop 
so  as  to  keep  up.  Melitta  waves  her  handkerchief  and 
calls  out,  and  Julius  answers  with  a  hearty  Holloa !  and 
whips  the  pony  across  the  neck,  whereupon  the  pony 
shakes  his  shaggy  head  indignantly  and  begins  to  race 
so  furiously  that  he  finally  beats  his  long-legged  rivals, 
after  all,  by  the  length  of  his  own  nose. 

The  horsemen  leap  from  their  saddles.  Julius  runs 
up  to  the  window  and  calls :  "  I  was  the  first,  after  all, 
mamma !  " 

"  Yes,"  says  mamrria,  "  only  make  haste  and  come  in, 
and  tell  Uncle  Oldenburg  not  to  busy  himself  so  long 
with  Almansor's  saddle." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  353 


CHAPTER     IX. 

IT  was  after  tea.  Julius  had  gone  to  bed.  Old  Bau- 
mann  had  removed  the  tea-things,  and  then  gone 
out,  casting  a  benevolent  glance  at  his  mistress  and 
her  visitor.  Melitta  and  Oldenburg  were  alone  in  the 
"red-room." 

"  Now  tell  me  candidly,  Adalbert,  why  you  are  so  out 
of  humor  to-day,"  said  Melitta,  who  sat  on  the  sofa, 
while  the  baron  was  slowly  walking  up  and  down  the 
room,  as  Avas  his  habit. 

"  I  am  not  out  of  humor." 

"  Well  then,  troubled.'  " 

"  That  perhaps.  I  had  a  letter  this  afternoon  from 
Birkenhain." 

"  That  is  strange.  I  have  just  been  Avriting  to  him 
this  afternoon." 

"  Have  you  heard  from  him  lately .'' "  said  Oldenburg, 
pausing  in  his  walk  and  looking  friendly  at  Melitta. 

"  No;  why  .>" 

"Hem!" 

"  Is  that  an  answer  }  " 

"  Certainlv,  and  a  very  significative  one.  Hem  !  means 
a  good  deal." 

"  In  this  case,  for  instance  .''  " 

"  Do  you  know  that  we  were  in  all  probability  at  the 
same  time  in  Fichtenan  when  Czika  and  Xenobia  as 
well  as  Oswald  were  all  there,  and  we  never  knew  it.''  " 

Melitta  blushed  deeply,  and  did  not  at  once  know 
what  answer  to  give.  Oldenburg,  however,  did  not  give 
her  time  to  reply,  but  drew  Birkenhain's  letter  from  his 
pocket,  sat  down  by  the  table,  opposite  Melitta,  and 
said  : 

"  You  see,  Birkenhain  writes,  after  having  informed 
me,  at  my  request,  of  Jvilius's  state  of  health — 'Julius 
must  be  spared  all  studying  till  New  Year' — as  follows  : 

" '  You  have  so  often  and  so  kindly  inquired  in  your 
letters  after  Professor  Berger,  dear  baron,  that  it  will 
interest  vou  to  hear  again  of  this  extraordinary  man, 


354  Tnyough  Night  to  Light. 

especially  after  having  made  his  personal  acquaintance 
here  at  my  house  last  summer.  You  may  recollect  from 
what  he  told  you  in  your  conversations  with  him,  that 
his  insanity  belongs  to  the  class  of  philosophical  aber- 
rations, and  that  he  defended  his  fixed  idea  of  the  abso- 
lute non-existence  of  all  things — or  rather  the  great 
original  Naught  as  he  called  it — with  all  the  erudition 
and  all  the  ingenuity  which  he  possesses  in  so  large  a 
degree.  My  hope  to  be  able  to  restore  this  distinguished 
man  in  a  short  time,  was  unfortunately  ill-founded,  and 
I  confess  that  the  method  which  I  pursued  in  his  case 
was,  perhaps,  not  the  correct  one.  I  intended  to  arouse  in 
him,  by  seclusion,  withdrawal  of  books,  etc.,  a  sensation 
of  weariness  and  loneliness,  and  through  these  a  desire 
to  see  company,  to  exchange  thoughts ;  in  one  word,  a 
fondness  for  life.  But  I  had  immensely  underrated  the 
fund  of  inner  life  which  was  at  the  disposal  of  my  patient. 
He  could  have  lived  for  years  on  the  treasures  of  his 
mind,  and  the  only  effect  of  my  efforts  was,  that  he  gave 
himself  up  more  fully  than  ever  to  his  bottomless,  orig- 
inal Naught.  Nevertheless,  I  still  hoped  for  some  im- 
provement, a  reaction  which  I  thought  could  not  fail 
to  arise  in  so  vigorous  a  mind  as  Berger's.  About  that 
t^me — I  think  it  was  the  very  day  on  which  you  and 
Frau  von  Berkow  were  here,  and  I  forgot  to  tell  you  in 
the  hurry  in  which  you  were,  anything  about  these  mat- 
ters which  interested  me  deeply — a  visitor,  who  had  an- 
nounced to  me  his  desire  to  see  Professor  Berger,  came 
very  apropos.  This  was  a  young  man  called  Doctor 
Stein  '  " — Oldenburg  did  not  look  up  as  he  came  to  the 
name — "  '  of  whom  a  colleague  in  GrunAvald,  with  whom 
he  was  travelling,  had  told  me  that  he  had  been  Berger's 
favorite  and  most  intimate  friend.  I  hoped  the  very 
best  results  from  this  visit — a  hope  which  I  mvist  confess 
was  considerably  weakened  when  I  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  this  Doctor  Stein.  I  found  him  a  remarkably 
handsome,  distinguished-looking  man,  who,  however,  in 
spite  of  evidently  rare  talents  and  thorough  cultivation, 
seemed  to  be  completely  at  odds  with  tlie  world  and  him- 
self, as  we  find  this  to  be  the  case,  unfortunately,  but  too 
freauently,  more  or  less,  in  our  most  gifted  men,  thanks 


Through  Night  to  Light.  355 

to  the  inactive,  thoughtless  times  in  which  wc  live.  I 
ought  to  have  been  able  to  tell  myself,  if  I  had  maturely 
reflected,  that  Berger  would  not  have  attached  himself 
so  heartily  to  this  man  just  before  the  breaking  out  of 
his  insanity,  if  he  had  not  also  been  a  hypochondriac. 
But  here  he  was,  and  the  thing  could  not  be  helped 
now ;  besides,  I  had  given  Doctor  Stein  very  precise 
instructions  before  I  allowed  him  to  see  Berger,  and 
awaited  now  with  great  interest  the  result  of  this  inter- 
view, at  which  I  was  on  purpose  not  present.  The  re- 
sult was  strange  indeed. 

" '  When  I  returned  from  my  interview  with  you  and 
Frau  von  Berkow,  I  went  at  once  to  my  patient,  who 
had  in  the  meantime  taken  a  walk  at  my  request.  He 
had  been  to  the  woods  in  company  with  his  visitor. 

"  '  At  the  first  glance  I  felt  convinced  that  something 
extraordinary  had  happened  to  him.  He  was  walking 
up  and  down  in  great  excitement.  As  soon  as  he  saw 
me  he  paused  and  said  :  "  Wliat  do  you  think  of  a  theory, 
doctor,  which  has  not  yet  been  tried  practically  }  "  "  Not 
much  !  "  I  replied ;  "  but  why  do  you  ask  ?  "  "  Oh,  a 
thought  occurred  to  me  to-night,  which  lies  so  near,  so 
near,  that  I  cannot  understand  why  it  never  occurred 
to  me  before."  I  asked  him  to  explain.  "  I  cannot  do 
that  now,"  he  said, "  but  I  will  certainly  do  it  as  soon  as 
I  am  able."  I  had  to  be  content  with  his  promise,  for  it 
was  useless  for  me  to  press  him  further.  I  hoped  to 
learn  more  about  it  from  Doctor  Stein.  He  had  left  the 
same  night,  "on  account  of  pressing  business,"  as  he  wrote 
me  the  next  day  in  a  little  note  from  one  of  the  nearest 
stations.  What  had  happened  between  him  and  Berger 
remained  a  secret  for  me  ;  I  only  learnt  from  others 
that  they  had  been  seen  that  night  in  a  waggoner's  inn, 
where  they  had  been  eating  and  drinking  with  rope- 
dancers,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  place,  and  who  had 
created  quite  a  sensation  there,  less  by  their  tricks 
than  '  " — Oldenburg's  voice  began  to  tremble  a  little — 
" '  by  a  beautiful  gypsy  woman  with  a  still  more  beautiful 
child.  Berger  was  very  quiet  and  taciturn  the  whole  of 
the  next  day.  I  left  him  quite  to  himself,  for  I  did  not 
wish  in  any  way  to  interfere  with  the  crisis  which  was 


356  Through  Night  to  Light. 

evidently  taking  place.  He  had  from  the  beginning- 
be-en  free  to  go  and  come  as  he  chose.  It  did  not  strike  the 
waiters,  therefore,  nor  the  gate-keeper,  as  strange,  when 
he  went  out  of  the  asylum  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing of  the  seventh  day — it  was  the  day  on  which  Frau  von 
B.  left.  But  this  time  he  did  not  return  during  the  day 
nor  at  night,  as  he  usually  did,  nor  on  the  following  day. 
He  had  disappeared. 

"  '  You  can  easily  imagine  what  I  felt  when  this  oc- 
curred. Although  the  search  which  I  immediately  or- 
dered, and  which  was  carried  out  with  great  energy  and 
circumspection,  had  no  result,  I  was  firmly  convinced 
that  Berger  had  not  attempted  his  life.  He  had  too 
often  spoken  most  impressively  against  this  way  "of 
tying  the  Gordian  knot  still  more  firmly,"  as  he  called 
it.  A  letter  written  by  him,  wdiich  I  received  shortly 
afterwards,  and  which  bore  the  post-maik  of  a  small 
northern  town,  proved  to  my  great  joy  that  I  had  not 
been  mistaken.  In  this  letter  the  strange  man  asked 
my  pardon  if  he  should  have  caused  me  a  few  disagree- 
able days  by  his  stealthy  departure  from  Fichtenan  ;  he 
had  not  known,  he  said,  how  else  he  could  have  carried 
out  the  thought  which  he  had  mentioned  to  me.  He 
had  joined,  for  the  moment,  a  party  consisting  of  "  good 
people,  but  bad  musicians,"  for  the  very  purpose  of 
carrying  out  that  thought,  and  the  thought  itself  w-as 
this  :  that  he  could  not  put  his  asceticism,  the  practi- 
cal side  of  his  theory  of  the  non-existence  of  life,  to  a  sat- 
isfactory test  within  the  four  walls  of  his  room,  or  in 
solitude  generally,  but  only  in  the  wude  world,  and  es- 
pecially amid  the  lower  classes  of  society,  to  w-hich  he 
had  now  descended  for  the  purpose.  He  begged  me,  if 
I  felt  any  interest  for  him,  not  to  interrupt  him  in  his 
experiment,  and  promised  to  inform  me  at  the  proper 
time  of  the  result  of  his  expedition,  which  promised  to 
be  very  favorable.'  " 

Oldenburg  folded  up  Birkenhain's  letter,  after  having 
read  so  fiir,  and  looked  at  Melitta. 

"  How  is  it,  Melitta }  "  he  said  ;  "  you  were  several  days 
in  Fichtenan,  I  know;  did  you  also  hear  people  talk  of 
this  beautiful  gypsy  woman  and  her  child,  who  must 


Through  Night  to  Light.  357 

have  been  Xenobia  and  Czika,  if  I  am  not  altogether 
mistaken  ?" 

"  More  than  that,"  replied  Melitta;  "  it  Avas  Xenobia 
and  Czika,  and  I  saw  them  and  spoke  to  them." 

Oldenburg  rested  his  head  on  his  hand.  "  You  did! " 
he  murmured  ;  "  and  you — why  did  you  not  tell  me.'" 

"  Because  I  feared  to  renew  your  sorrow  about  the  lost 
one  ;  because — listen  to  me,  Adalbert,  I  will  tell  you.  I 
would  have  told  you  long  ago  if  I  had  had  the  courage." 
And  she  told  Oldenburg  of  her  meeting  with  the  Brown 
Countess  in  the  Fichtenan  forest,  how  she  had  tried  to 
persuade  the  gypsy  to  come  with  her,  and  how  she  had 
been  grieved  when  she  found  all  her  persuasions  and 
her  prayers  unavailing;  and,  finally,  how  she  had  re- 
ceived from  Xenobia  the  promise  to  bring  her  the  child 
if  she  should  ever  change  her  mind,  and  how  she, 
Melitta,  was  firmly  convinced  that  this  would  happen 
sooner  or  later. 

As  the  young  widow  told  him  all  this,  the  tears  were 
running  down  her  cheeks,  and  her  voice  trembled  with 
deep  emotion. 

Oldenburg  rose  and  silently  kissed  her  hand,  then 
he  strode  eagerly  up  and  down  the  room,  while  Melitta 
continued  to  tell  him  how  she  had,  shortly  before  her 
encounter  with  the  gypsy,  overtaken  the  wagon  of  the 
rope-dancer,  and  that  she  now  recollected  having  seen 
among  them  a  man  in  a  blue  blouse  whom  she  had 
then  taken  for  a  peasant,  but  who  she  now  knew  must 
have  been  Professor  Bcrger.  "There  is  no  doubt,"  she 
said,  "  that  'the  good  people  and  bad  musicians,'  of 
whom  Berger  speaks  in  his  letter  to  Birkenhain,  were 
none  else  but  those  very  rope-dancers,  whom  he  had 
joined,  and  with  whom  he  has  wandered  to  Northern 
Germany,  as  the  letter  says.  Perhaps  he  is  even  now  in 
our  neighborhood.  If  Birkenhain  had  mentioned  the 
name  of  the  place,  I  would  suggest  to  you  to  go  there  at 
once  and  to  try  what  you  can  to  bring  Xenobia  and 
Czika  back  with  you  ;  as  it  is,  however,  it  would  only 
be  a  wild-goose  chase,  from  which  you  would  return 
disappointed  in  your  hopes,  out  of  humor  and  out  of 
health.     I  advise  vou,  therefore,  to  write  to  Birkenhain, 


358  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  to  await  his  answer  before  you  undertake  anything. 
I  ought  to  add,  candidly,  that  I  consider  it  best,  all  in 
all,  to  leave  the  unravelling  of  this  strange  complica- 
tion confidingly  to  the  future.  Xenobia  has  a  thousand 
ways  and  means  to  escape  from  you  if  she  chooses ;  her 
resolution  to  return  to  us  and  to  surrender  Czika  to  us 
must  be  the  work  of  her  own  free  will." 

"  If  you  think  that  waiting  is  the  best  I  can  do  in  this 
case,  why  do  you  advise  me  then  to  do  just  the  oppo- 
site .?  " 

"  Because  I  fear  you  will  find  it  impossible  to  sit  still 
after  you  have  once  more  found  a  trace  of  the  lost  one  ; 
because  I  know  that  you  yearn  to  see  your  child;  be- 
cause I  know  that  the  resignation  to  which  you  have 
now  condemned  yourself  is  unnatural ;  and,  finally " 

"  Finally .?  " 

"  Because,  if  I  advise  you  to  do  nothing  for  the  re- 
covery of  Czika  it  might  look  as  if  I  did  not  wish  you 
such  happiness,  and  for  all  the  world  I  would  not  have 
you  suspect  me  for  a  moment  of  such  heartlessness." 

"  The  human  heart  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  Oldenburg, 
after  having  continued  his  promenade  through  the  room 
for  a  little  while.  "  Can  you  believe  it,  Melitta,  that  I 
could  now  almost  wish  you  would  show  less  readiness 
to  restore  to  me  my  child,  and  the  woman  to  whom  I 
owe  her.?  " 

"  Impossible,  Adalbert !  " 

"  And  yet  it  is  so.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  be 
always  unreservedly  candid  towards  you,  as  you  are 
towards  me  ;  at  least  to  try  to  be  so  ;  and  therefore  I  can 
keep  nothing  from  you.  Formerly,  when  you  seemed  to 
be  beyond  my  reach  as  far  as  the  stars  in  heaven,  I  often 
longed  for  other  human  hearts  to  warm  me,  and  to  let 
me  feel  by  their  pulsations  that  everything  around  me 
was  not  as  dead  as  I  felt ;  or  I  threw  myself  into  wild  ex- 
cesses and  neck-breaking  adventures,  in  order  to  feel  at 
least  that  I  was  still  living.  But  now  all  that  has  sud- 
denly changed.  Since  there  has  come  to  me  the  faintest 
ray  of  hope  that  you  may  yet  once  upon  a  time  consent 
to  be  mine,  the  world  has  recovered  all  its  youthful 
beauty  in  my  eyes ;  but  now  I  should  also  like  to  see 


Through  Night  to  Light.  359 

the  fountain  from  which  I  have  drunk  this  water  of 
youth,  free  of  all  admixture  and  undimmed.  As  you 
are  all  in  all  to  me,  so  I  should  like  to  be  all  to  you  ;  to  see 
you  have  no  other  desire  than  to  be  loved — loved  more 
and  more — as  I  have  no  other  desire  than  to  love  you, 
more  and  more.  What  is  the  rest  of  the  world  to  vis  ? 
I  have  forgotten  it ;  it  does  not  exist  for  me  any  more  !  " 

Melitta  had  let  this  storm  of  passion  rush  over  her 
Avith  bowed  head.  When  Oldenburg  paused  she  took 
the  diary,  which  lay  open  before  her  on  the  table,  turned 
over  a  few  leaves,  and  said : 

"  Man  strives  according  to  his  nature  after  the  general 
and  infinite ;  in  woman,  who  stands  in  every  respect 
nearer  to  nature,  the  characteristic  feature  of  every  be- 
ing, self-love,  is  much  more  distinctly  marked.  Man 
represents  the  centrifugal  power  of  the  moral  world; 
woman  the  centripetal  power.  If  the  former  had  the 
government,  the  world  would  soon  be  in  the  clouds  al- 
together ;  if  woman  ruled,  we  should  never  rise  above 
the  top  of  the  wheat-blades  that  nod  over  the  lark's  nest 
in  the  furrow.  The  way  to  reconcile  the  two  tendencies 
is  love.  When  he  loves  a  beautiful  woman,  man  learns 
that  he  is  not  merely  a  denizen  of  the  spiritual  world  ; 
and  when  a  woman  loves  a  noble  man,  she  learns  that 
there  are  higher  interests  than  those  of  the  domestic 
hearth.  They  must  complement  each  other ;  she  must 
remind  him  that  mankind  is  made  up  of  men  ;  he  must 
teach  even  the  most  gifted  among  us  first  to  spell  and 
then  to  read  fluently  the  great  words  of  our  day :  '  Lib- 
erty and  Fraternity.'  " 

She  closed  the  book  and  glanced  up  at  Oldenburg, 
who  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  her,  his  arms  crossed 
on  his  bosom. 

"  You  were  right  not  to  let  me  become  faithless  to  my 
own  convictions,"  he  said;  "and  I  should  like  to  know 
but  this  one  thing — whether  your  zeal  to  convert  me  is 
quite  pure,  or  whether  the  priestess  is  not  anxious  to 
direct  the  eyes  of  the  sinner  to  the  idol  itself,  because 
their  longing  glances  directed  at  her  begin  to  be  a  bur- 
den to  her.'  " 

"  Oldenburg  !  " 


360  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Yes,  Melitta,  I  must  say  it  or  it  will  crush  my  heart. 
You  know  how  dearly,  how  unspeakably,  I  love  you. 
The  wish  to  possess  you  is  all-powerful  in  me.  I  have 
nourished  it  so  long  that  it  fills  my  whole  being,  and  all 
my  life  is  concentrated  in  it.  Without  you  I  am  noth- 
ing. With  you  I  defy  a  world  in  arms.  I  know  very 
well  that  we  ought  to  do  right  for  the  sake  of  the  right, 
and  that  he  who  asks  for  reward  has  already  his  reward. 
But  I  am  not  a  saint.  I  am  a  man,  with  all  the  weak- 
nesses and  passions  of  a  man,  which  rise  over  him  and 
threaten  to  drown  him  like  a  raging  sea,  if  the  dear,  the 
beloved  hand  is  not  stretched  out  to  save  him.  Melitta, 
say  that  you  will  be  mine,  and  my  deeds  shall  not  fall 
below  my  words." 

Oldenburg  had  remained  standing  at  the  same  place, 
in  the  same  position.  As  in  his  carriage,  so  in  the  tone 
of  his  voice  there  was  rather  a  tone  of  command  than  of 
prayer.  That  man  would  not  have  knelt  down  before 
a  dozen  rifles,  nor  have  suffered  his  eyes  to  be  bandaged. 

Melitta  felt  this ;  but  his  pride  did  not  offend  her  this 
time  as  it  had  often  done  before.  She  answered  in  an 
almost  humble  tone  : 

"  Do  not  let  us  act  rashly,  Adalbert !  You  know  how 
dear  you  are  to  me,  and-  that  must  for  the  present  con- 
tent you.  See,  Adalbert,  this  letter  comes  just  in  time 
to  remind  us  of  our  duty.  You  must  recover  your 
child.  I  should  not  enjoy  a  single  hour  of  my  life  if 
I  were  to  fear  that  your  love  for  myself  had  extin- 
guished in  your  heart  its  most  sacred  sentiment.  And, 
Adalbert,  think  also  of  this ;  I  am  willing  to  believe  it : 
You  do  not  love  any  longer  the  woman  who  once  in- 
flamed the  passion  of  the  inexperienced  youth ;  but  she 
is  the  mother  of  your  child  !  What  will  you  say  to  your 
Czika,  if  she  asks  you  why  another  person  than  the 
poor  woman  whom  she  calls  mother  is  the  wife  of  her 
father  ?  " 

"  Where  did  you  meet  Oswald  Stein  the  last  time  since 
you  saw  him  in  Fichtenan  }  " 

Oldenburg  said  these  few  words  slowly  and  with  with- 
ering scorn. 

Melitta  turned  scarlet.  •  A  spark  of  the  evil   oassion 


Through  Night  to  Light.  361 

of  offended  pride  which  raj^cd  in  Oldenburg's  heart  set 
'her  own  on  fire,  and  kindled  the  spirit  of  opposition 
\\-hich  had  been  so  often  already  fatal  to  botli. 

"  Who  tells  you  that  I  saw  him  at  all  in  Fichtenan  ?  " 
"  I  only  thought  so.     Perhaps  you  kept  this  encounter 
from  me  as  you  did  with  the  others." 
"  And  if  I  had  seen  him  in  Fichtenan.?  " 
"That  would  be  what  I  had  expected." 
"  And  if  I  had  seen  him  since  quite  frequently .''  " 
"  That  would  only  prove  to  me  that  my  coming  here 
is  as  improper  for  myself  as  it  must  be  inconvenient  to 
you." 

Oldenburg  went  across  the  room  and  took  his  riding- 
whip  and  gloves  from  the  console  under  the  mirror.  As 
he  came  back  again  to  Melitta  he  stopped,  and  said : 
"  Good-night,  Melitta  !  "  "  Good-night !  "  replied  the 
proud  woman,  without  raising  her  eyes.  He  waited  for 
a  moment,  and  for  another  moment,  whether  she  would 
look  at  him  or  say  a  word — but  in  vain.  Not  a  word, 
not  a  sigh,  rose  from  his  crushed  heart ;  he  went  to 
the  door,  opened  it  gently,  and  closed  it  as  noiselessly 
again. 

jNIelitta  started.  She  hastened  to  the  door;  but  in- 
stead of  opening  it  she  only  leaned  with  uplifted  arms 
against  it  and  wept  passionately.  "  I  knew  it  would 
come  thus,"  she  murmured.     "  Poor,  poor  Adalbert !  " 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  horse's  foot-fall  close  by  the 
Avindow.  She  ran  from  the  door  to  the  window  and 
opened  it,  she  leaned  far  out  and  cried  "  Adalbert !  Adal- 
bert !  "  but  the  storm  that  drove  the  icy  snow-Hakes  in 
her  face  swept  away  her  voice,  and  the  black  shadow 
of  horse  and  rider,  which  was  but  just  now  gliding 
noiselessly  over  the  white  plain  and  through  the  gray 
night,  was  at  the  next  moment  no  longer  to  be  distin- 
guished. 


362  Through  Night  to  Light. 


CHAPTER    X. 

WINTER  has  come  during  the  night  to  the  island, 
and  still  the  snow-storm  rages ;  and  the  countless 
flakes,  swept  down  by  its  swift  wings  from  north- 
ern lands,  fall  thick  upon  roofs  and  trees,  upon  meadows 
and  fields;  and  one  who  looked  for  a  time  into  the  dark- 
ling air,  from  which  the  white  stars  are  dropping  for- 
ever, felt  as  if  he  were  rising  upward  with  moderate 
rapidity — up  and  up,  into  the  gray  boundless  space. 

Oldenburg  seemed  to-day  to  enjoy  the  melancholy 
sight  to  his  heart's  content.  He  is  standing  by  the  win- 
dow in  his  study  at  the  Solitude,  and  looks  fixedly  at 
the  sea,  or  rather  at  the  snow-filled  air,  for  of  the  sea 
little  or  nothing  can  be  seen  to-day.  He  has  been 
standing  there  many  hours  to-day,  and  scarcely  noticed 
his  Herrmann,  who  comes  and  goes  wuth  mournful  mien, 
and  packs  several  large  trunks  which  stand  open  about 
the  room,  filling  them  with  clothes  and  linen  and  books. 
The  good  servant's  good  wife,  Thurnelda,  also  the  com- 
fortable, fat  housekeeper,  has  repeatedly  bustled  into  the 
room  under  some  pretext  or  other,  and  once  actually 
dared  to  ask  her  master  if  he  would  not  come  to  dinner. 
But  he  had  only  replied, 

"  Very  well,  my  good  woman." 

Since  then  several  hours  have  elapsed.  The  baron 
had  intended  to  leave  directly  after  dinner,  but  he  had 
not  ordered  the  horses  yet.  He  can  hardly  hope  that 
the  weather  will  clear  up,  for  the  store-houses  of  snow 
seem  to  be  inexhaustible  ;  and  besides,  it  would  be  the 
first  time  that  he  allows  the  bad  weather  to  keep  him 
from  carrying  out  his  purpose.  Moreover,  if  he  had 
intended  to  reach  the  ferry  before  night,  noon  would 
have  been  the  very  latest  hour  at  which  to  start.  He  is 
probably  not  very  much  pressed  to  go.  Perhaps  he  is 
rather  pleased  to  see  tiie  snovv-btorm,  as  it  gives  him  an 
excuse  from  without;  or  it  may  be  he  expects  some  im- 
portant news,  for  he  has  repeatedly  asked  during  the 
day,  "  Has  nobody  been  here.'*  "     And  every  time  when 


Through  Night  to  Light.  2)^t^ 

his  old  Herrmann  has  been  compelled  to  answer,  ac- 
cording to  the  truth,  "  No,  sir!  "  he  has  turned  again  to 
the  window  and  continued  to  drum  upon  the  panes  with 
his  fingers. 

It  does  not  look  very  probable  now  that  anybody- 
should  come.  The  muddy-red  streak  far  down  on  the 
horizon  shows  that  the  sun,  which  has  been  invisible  all 
day  long,  is  sinking  into  the  sea.  A  fierce  blow,  shaking 
the  windows  and  racing  with  a  howl  and  a  grOan  around 
the  house  and  through  the  high  tops  of  the  pine-trees, 
tears  the  snow-filled  air  asunder,  and  the  infinite  waste  of 
gray  waters,  with  their  foam-crested  waves,  spreads  out 
in  fearful  solemnity  before  the  glance  of  the  solitary 
man.  He  opens  the  door  and  steps  out  on  the  balcony  ; 
he  leans  upon  the  railing  through  whose  iron  bars  the 
wind  is  whistling  in  shrill  notes.  He  does  not  cast  a 
look  at  the  tall  chalk-clifts  which  stretch  far  out  to  the 
right  and  the  left,  and  which  now,  with  the  stern  forests 
they  bear  on  their  rugged  brow,  shine  in  the  setting  sun 
for  a  moment  in  blood-red  colors.  He  looks  fixedly 
down,  where,  a  hundred  feet  below  him,  the  wild  ocean 
lashes  the  huge  blocks  of  rock  on  the  shore  with  grim 
thunder.  The  white  spray  rises  at  times  in  eddies, 
driven  up  by  the  fierce  wind  between  sharp  edges  of  the 
steep  walls,  till  it  reaches  him  and  fills  his  hair  and 
beard  with  icy-cold  drops.  But  he  does  not  mind  it. 
In  his  soul  there  rages  a  wilder  and  stormier  tempest 
than  without.  He  feels  as  if  he  were  utterly  alone  in 
this  desert  of  a  world — as  if  upon  this  desert  an  eternal 
night  were  gradually  sinking  down,  and  as  if  he  were 
condemned  to  live  on  in  this  eternal  darkness. 

It  serves  you  right !  he  murmured.  Why  did  you 
let  yourself  be  led  by  the  nose  once  more,  when  you 
ought  to  have  known  perfectly  well  how  it  would  end } 
And  yet !  She  was  so  sweet,  so  kind  all  these  days  ;  she 
has  never  been  so  before.  Could  I  close  my  ear  to  the 
siren-song  that  never  sounded  nearer  or  dearer  to  me.-* 
Siren-song — that  it  is  !  What  do  women  know  of  the 
true  love  which  men  feel  in  their  hearts  .^  All  is  ca- 
price with  them — idle  play  and  vanity.  A  pair  of  blue 
eyes,  a  smooth  tongue,  and  courteous  ways,  and  you 
i6 


364  Through  Night  to  Light. 

have  the  doll  that  pleases  good  little  children.  They 
do  not  ask  whether  the  little  doll  has  a  heart  in  her 
bosom,  or  brains  in  her  head.  On  the  contrary,  that 
might  be  inconvenient,  tedious ;  that  would  not  suit  the 
nursery. 

Well,  let  it  be,  then  !  Let  me  lay  aside  the  fool's  cap 
forever  and  for  aye!  As  the  evening  twilight  darkens 
yonder  on  the  rocks,  I  Avill  wipe  off  this  rosy  illusion 
from  my  soul  and  grow  rough  like  the  wintry  sea  ;  and 
as  nobody  loves  me,  I  will  love  nobody  in  return.  I 
will  go  through  life  lonely,  as  that  snowbird  is  winging 
his  way  through  the  pathless  air,  and  not  even  ask 
whether  he  has  prepared  for  himself  a  sheltering  nest 
under  some  overhanging  cliff  on  the  coast. 

"  That  you  will  not  do  !  You  are  a  man  ;  and  a  man 
is  a  great  deal  more  than  the  birds  under  the  heavens." 

Oldenburg  turned  round  in  amazement,  to  see  who  it 
was  that  could  have  spoken  these  words  in  such  a  calm, 
firm  tone.     Close  behind  him  stood  old  Baumann. 

"  I  come,"  said  the  old  man,  answering  Oldenburg's 
anxiously  inquiring  looks,  "  by  order  of  Frau  von  Ber- 
kow." 

"  What  is  it } "  said  Oldenburg,  his  blood  rushing 
madly  to  his* heart ;  "  speak  out !  Frau  von  Berkow  is 
ill,  is  she.''  " 

"  Not  Frau  von  Berkow,"  replied  Baumann  ;  "  another 
woman,  who  has  come  about  an  hour  ago  to  our  house, 
with  a  child,  and  who  wishes  to  see  the  baron  once  more 
before  her  death,  which  seems  not  to  be  very  far  off." 

"  A  woman — with  a  child  !  "  It  fell  like  a  veil  from  the 
baron's  eye. 

"Come  !  "  he  said. 

Melitta's  sleigh,  with  two  powerful  bays,  was  standing 
before  the  door  of  tlie  Solitude.  The  men  got  in  ;  Old- 
enburg took  the  reins  and  the  whip  from  the  hands  of 
the  servant,  who  sat  behind,  and  off  they  went  at  full 
gallop  through  the  dark  pine-woods ;  out  of  the  woods 
into  the  level  land,  which  gradually  falls  off  towards 
Fashwitz,  and  into  the  wide  snow  plain,  witli  its  distant 
gray  horizon,  and  a  few  scarcely-perceptible  trees  and 
cottages   here   and    there,  thickly  covered  with    snow. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  365 

The  road  also  was  nearly  hid,  and  even  the  track  made 
by  the  sleigh  in  coming  had  long  been  effaced  by  the 
storm.  It  required  all  of  Oldenburg's  familiarity  with 
the  country,  and  all  of  his  skill  in  driving,  to  be  able  to 
race  as  he  did  through  this  wilderness,  up  hill  and  down 
hill,  between  bottomless  morasses  on  both  sides.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken  on  the  way,  and  half  an  hour  later  the 
sleigh  with  the  steaming  horses  was  standing  before  the 
door  of  the  great  house  at  Berkow. 

They  went  into  the  house. 

"  Will  you  please,  sir,  step  into  the  garden-room .?  " 
said  old  Baumann. 

He  went  in  first.  A  lamp  was  lighted  on  the  table, 
and  in  the  grate  a  fire  on  the  point  of  going  out.  The 
old  man  screwed  up  the  lamp,  kindled  the  fire  afresh, 
and  then  disappeared  through  the  door  which  led  into 
the  red-room. 

Oldenburg  was  standing  before  the  fire-place,  warm- 
ing his  cold  hands.  A  thousand  confused  thoughts 
filled  his  mind  at  once  ;  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  a  few  times,  and  then  stood  again  before  the  fire. 

"  Melitta  was  right,"  he  said  to  himself  "  Before  this 
wrong  is  atoned  for,  I  cannot  expect  any  happiness. 
And  how  can  I  make  atonement .''  Is  it  not  the  curse 
of  an  evil  deed  that  it  brings  forth  more  and  more  evil 
deeds.'  It  was  the  shadow  of  to-day  which  fell  upon 
our  souls  yesterday  in  anticipation.  How  stupid  I  was, 
how  blinded  by  passion,  that  I  did  not  understand  the 
warning  !  Yes,  she  has  an  older,  a  holier  right ;  and  woe 
is  me  if  I  were  to  disregard  this  right !  It  would  rise 
ever  and  again  and  testify  against  me  !  But  it  is  terrible 
that  the  Furies  should  follow  us  even  into  the  temple 
where  we  desire  to  purify  ourselves  of  our  guilt — even 
into  the  sacred  shrine  which  holds  our  whole  happiness  !" 

The  rustling  of  a  lady's  dress  behind  him  made  him 
start.  He  turned  round,  and  there  stood  Melitta,  pale 
and  serious,  her  sweet,  fair  eyes  shining  with  the  traces 
of  recent  tears. 

"  Melitta,"  said  Oldenburg,  offering  her  both  hands, 
"  can  you  forgive  me  .'" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  Adalbert,"  she  replied. 


366  Through  Night' to  Light. 

placing  her  hands  in  his;  "  let  us  bear  in  patience  what 
must  be  borne." 

They  looked  silently  into  each  other's  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  There  is  still  much  between  us,"  said  Oldenburg, 
sadly.     "  I  cannot  see  to  the  bottom  of  your  heart." 

"  That  is  why  we  must  bear  in  patience,"  said  Melitta. 

Oldenburg  let  go  her  hands. 

"  How  is  she  .''  " 

"  She  is  very  feeble :  in  a  state  between  sleeping  and 
waking,  but  she  knows  me ;  and  she  has  asked  for  you 
several  times." 

"  Is  Czika  with  her .?  " 

"Yes." 

"  May  I  see  her  }  " 

"  Let  me  first  go  in  alone.     I  shall  be  back  directly." 

After  a  few  minutes,  during  which  Oldenburg  had 
walked  up  and  down  in  the  room,  his  arms  crossed  on 
his  breast  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  Melitta  re- 
appeared in  the  door. 

" Come  I  " 

Oldenburg  followed  her  through  the  red-room  into  a 
half-dark  room — Melitta's  chamber.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  his  life  that  he  saw  it ;  and,  as  she  led  him  by  the 
hand  to  the  door,  the  thought  passed  through  his  head, 
what  a  strange  circumstance  it  was  that  admitted  him  to 
this  room.  At  the  door  on  the  opposite  side  Melitta 
stopped,  and  whispered  :  "  She  is  in  there." 

They  went  in.  It  was  a  large,  very  magnificent  apart- 
ment, filled  with  rococo  furniture,  which  belonged  to 
the  guest-chambers  of  the  great  house.  Heavy  cur- 
tains of  yellow  silk  darkened  the  windows,  the  sofa 
and  the  chairs  were  covered  with  the  same  material,  and 
the  light  of  the  fire  that  was  burning  in  the  grate  was 
reflected  here  and  there  by  the  highly-polished  floor  of 
inlaid  wood.  The  mantel-piece  was  supported  by  two 
little  amors,  and  on  it  stood  an  ormolu  clock,  represent- 
i'lg  the  entrance  to  a  grotto,  guarded  by  genii  and  but- 
tcriiies,  from  which  a  man  with  a  scythe  came  forth 
wlienever  the  hour  struck.  Paintings  in  the  taste  of  the 
rococo  period,  full  of  sheep,  shepherds,  and  sheoherd- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  367 

esses,  adorned  the  room,  in  heavy  gilt  frames.  A  mas- 
sive lustre  with  glass  crystals  hung  from  the  ceiling,  and 
played  in  the  fitful  light  which  filled  the  room  in  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow.  And  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
splendor,  in  an  immense  tent-bed,  the.  silk  curtains  of 
which  were  drawn  back,  lay  upon  snowy  pillows  a  poor 
woman,  sick  unto  death,  who  had  first  seen  the  light  of 
the  stars  in  distant  Hungary  behind  a  hedge,  and  who 
had  spent  her  nights  through  all  her  life  in  barns  and 
stables,  and  still  more  frequently  under  the  open  sky,  on 
the  heath,  or  in  the  woods,  beneath  the  lofty  vaults  of 
ancient  beech-trees.  Her  large  eyes,  shining  with  fever- 
ishness,  Avandered  restlessly  over  all  the  costly  objects 
that  surrounded  her,  and  ever  and  anon  remained  fixed 
for  a  while  on  her  child,  as  if  this  were  the  only  point 
where  her  troubled  spirit  could  rest  in  peace.  Czika 
was  standing  by  her  bed,  dressed  in  the  fantastic  gay 
costume  which  she  commonly  wore,  even  outside  of  the 
stage,  in  the  interest  of  art.  Her  beautiful  face  looked 
more  serious  and  careworn  than  usual.  She  did  not 
take  her  eyes  from  her  mother.  She  showed  evidently 
that  she  knew  perfectly  well  what  all  this  meant ;  that 
she  saw  death  in  the  yellow  hue  of  her  mother's  brown 
cheeks,  in  the  pallor  of  her  red  lips,  and  in  the  cold 
drops  of  perspiration  which  were  bedewing  her  pain- 
fully-corrugated brow. 

Near  a  small  table,  close  by  the  bed,  stood  old  Bau- 
mann.  He  was  very  busy  preparing  a  cooling  drink, 
and  he  hardly  looked  up  from  his  occupation  when  Me- 
litta  and  Oldenburg  very  quietly  entered  the  room. 

But  the  sharp  ear  of  the  sick  woman  had  heard  them. 
A  faint  smile  of  satisfaction  passed  over  her  wrinkled 
face.     She  beckoned  them  to  her. 

As  they  approached  the  bed,  Czika  came  to  stand 
between  them.  This  seemed  to  please  Xenobia.  Her 
smile  became  brighter,  then  it  vanished,  and  she  said,  in 
broken  Xjerman  : 

"  Put  your  hands  on  Czika's  head." 

Oldenburg  and  Melitta  did  so.  Oldenburg's  hand 
trembled  as  it  touched  the  soft  hair  on  the  fair  young 
head. 


368  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  And  give  me  the  other  hand!  " 

Xcnobia  took  their  hands,  and  when  she  saw  the 
chain  formed  in  this  manner,  she  murmured  something 
which  the  others  did  not  understand,  and  which  might 
have  been  a  curse  or  a  blessing,  or  both,  for  the  expres- 
sion of  her  face  changed  at  every  word. 

Then  she  said : 

"  Swear  that  you  will  not  abandon  the  Czika !  " 

*'  We  swear  !  "  said  Oldenburg;  while  Melitta, unable 
to  utter  1  word,  only  moved  her  lips. 

Xenobia  let  go  their  hands,  in  order  to  cross  her  own 
hands  on  her  bosom. 

"  Now  leave  Xenobia  alone,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low 
tone  of  voice ;  "  only  Czika  is  to  stay,  and  the  old 
man." 

Oldenburg  and  Melitta  looked  at  each  other,  and  then 
at  the  old  man,  who  came  up  with  the  cooling  drink. 
He  nodded  his  venerable  gray  head,  as  if  he  meant  to 
say  :  "  Do  what  she  asks." 

Oldenburg  did  not  dare  refuse.  He  took  Melitta's 
hand  and  led  her  out  of  the  room.  The  clock  on  the 
mantel-piece  began  to  strike.  The  man  with  the  scythe 
was  slowly  coming  out  of  his  cave. 

They  went  back  into  the  garden-room.  Neither  said 
a  word.  Oldenbvirg  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair 
near  the  fire,  and  glared  with  troubled  looks  at  the  coals. 
Suddenly  he  felt  Melitta's  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Adalbert !  " 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  a  questioning  look. 

"  You  will  not  leave,  I  am  sure.-*  " 

"  If  you  wish  it — no  !  " 

"  And  you  will  wait  in  patience  till — you  can  see  the 
bottom  of  my  heart.?  " 

"Yes!" 

"  Give  me  your  hand  on  it." 

Oldenburg  pressed  her  hand  to  his  face  ;  she  felt  his 
tears  flowing.  She  bent  down  and  kissed  liis  brow. 
Then  she  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire  and  fell 
into  deep  thought. 

The  bells  of  a  sleigh  interrupted  the  silence.  It  was 
Doctor  Balthasar.    While  the  old  gentleman  Avas  warm- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  369 

ing  his  hands  by  the  fire,  Oldenburg  told  him  what  was 
the  matter. 

"  Hem  !  hem  !  "  said  Doctor  Balthasar.  "  Know  all : 
tubercles  in  the  lungs — travelling  in  this  weather — 
can't  recover.  Hem !  hem !  Where  is  she  t — let  us  have 
a  look  at  her." 

As  the  three  were  turning  round  to  leave  the  room, 
the  door  opened,  and  old  Baumann,  with  Czika  by  his 
side,  entered. 

"  You  are  too  late !  "  he  said  to  Doctor  Balthasar. 

Melitta,  sobbing  aloud,  drew  Czika  to  her  heart. 

"  Hem  !  hem  !  "  said  Doctor  Balthasar ;  "  the  old  story 
— always  call  me  when  all  is  over — hem  !  hem!  Let  us 
have  a  look  at  her." 


CHAPTER     XI. 

TWO  men  from  the  village  have,  under  old  Bau- 
mann's  superintendence,  removed  the  snow  in 
the  park  of  Berkow  at  a  place  close  to  the  edge 
of  the  beech  forest,  and  where  in  summer  a  beautiful 
view  may  be  had  over  the  meadow,  which  slopes  gradu- 
ally down  to  the  garden  and  the  castle.  They  have  dug 
a  grave  there  in  the  black  earth,  and  in  the  deep  grave 
the  gypsy  woman  sleeps  now  the  deep,  eternal  sleep, 
weary  from  her  restless  wandering  through  this  check- 
ered, restless  life,  which  has  brought  her  so  little  hap- 
piness. 

When  the  weather  cleared  up,  a  few  days  later,  and 
the  store-houses  filled  with  snow  seemed  to  have  been 
emptied  for  a  time,  and  when  it  had  been  possible  to 
clear  the  walks  through  the  garden  and  the  park  down 
to  the  forest  itself,  Melitta  might  often  be  seen,  with 
Julius  and  Czika  by  her  side,  Avalking  down  to  the 
grave  of  the  gypsy,  which  is  now  marked  by  a  large 
block  of  granite,  bearing  simply  the  name  of  Xenobia  on 
its  one  smoothly-polished  side.  Melitta  is  almost  always 
16* 


37°  Through  Night  to  Light. 

holding  the  brown  child  by  the  hand,  and  speaks  more 
frequently  to  her  than  to  her  son,  who  in  his  turn  waits 
on  the  child  with  almost  chivalrous  tenderness.  "  When 
the  roads  are  a  little  better  I  will  drive  you  in  my 
sleigh,  Czika.  Oh,  I  have  a  beautiful  sleigh;  I'll  show 
it  to  you  when  we  get  back.  And  we  will  go  out  quite 
alone.  The  pony  knows  me  better  than  any  one  else  ;  I 
have  only  to  clack  my  tongue,  and  off  he  goes  like  light- 
ning ;  and  when  I  say :  Brr,  Pony !  he  stands  as  quiet  as 
a  lamb.  Don't  you  think,  mamma,  I  can  go  out  quite 
alone  with  Czika.-'  " 

"  If  Czika  is  willing  to  go  with  you,  why  not  1 " 

Czika's  dark  face  had  brightened  up  a  little  while 
Julius  was  speaking,  but  now  a  cloud  was  passing  over 
it  once  more. 

"  Czika  would  like  to  have  Hamet  back  again,"  she 
said,  looking  with  her  gazelle  eyes  into  the  far  distance. 

"Who  is  Hamet,  Czika.?  "  inquired  Julius. 

"  Hamet .''     Hamet  is  Czika's  donkey  !  " 

"  Pshaw ;  a  donkey!"  cries  the  boy,  curving  his  upper 
lip  contemptuously ;  but  a  glance  from  his  mother's  eye 
makes  a  sudden  blush  of  shame  to  rise  on  his  cheek. 

"  Where  is  your  donkey,  Czika  ?  "  he  asks,  with  kindly 
sympathy. 

"  Hamet  is  dead.  Mother  and  I  buried  him  in  the 
forest." 

"  Why,  that's  a  pity.  Well,  never  mind,  Czika  ;  I  will 
buy  you  another  one.  You  know,  mamma,  Mr.  Griebe- 
now,  the  gamekeeper  at  Fashwitz,  has  a  big  donkey, 
with  such  immense  ears.  Oh,  Czika  !  the  pony  always 
shies  when  we  meet  him.  But  that  does  not  matter.  He 
must  get  accustomed  to  it,  or  else  " — and  Julius  threat- 
ened him  with  his  switch — "  I'll  soon  teach  him  better. 
Wont  you,  mamma,  wont  you  let  me  go  over  with  Bau- 
mann  and  buy  the  donkey  .-'  Griebenow  has  offered  him 
to  me  several  times.     Wont  you,  dear  mamma.?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Melitta;  "and  his  name  shall  be 
Hamet." 

"Oh  that  is  beautiful,"  cried  Julius;  "and  tlicn  we 
can  ride  out,  all  three  of  us.  You  on  Bella,  I  on  the 
pony,  and  Czika  on  Hamet ;   and  then — but  no,  I  am 


Through  Night  to  Light.  ^ji 

afraid  Hamet  wont  be  able  to  keep  up  with  us  !"  he  in- 
terrupts himself,  and  looks  very  grave  and  sober. 

"Then  we  will  so  slowly." 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  we  can  do  that.  We  will  ride  very 
slowly,  Czika;  I  should  not  like  you  to  have  a  fall  for 
anything  in  the  world." 

Thus  the  boy  prattles  on  ;  and  Melitta  is  delighted  to 
see  that  his  prattling  and  his  cheerful  ways  have  some 
effect  upon  Czika.  She  thinks  of  the  time  when  the 
Brown  Countess  first  came  to  Berkow,  and  how  she  had 
wished  even  then,  long  before  she  had  any  suspicion  that 
the  girl  could  be  Oldenburg's  child,  to  keep  her,  and  to 
bring  her  up  with  her  Julius;  and  how  strangely  her 
wish  had  now  come  to  be  fulfilled.  And  then  her 
thoughts  are  wandering  into  the  future,  and  of  the  pos- 
sible time  when  she  may  call  these  children  "our  chil- 
dren." And  when  they  get  to  the  granite  block,  and  she 
has  placed  a  wreath  of  immortelles  on  it,  she  takes  the 
two  children  in  her  arms  and  kisses  them,  and  says :  "  My 
children,  my  dear  dear  children  !  " 

Melitta  was  all  day  busy  with  Czika  ;  and  if  Julius  had 
not  been  himself  so  devoted  to  the  pretty  little  girl  he 
might  well  have  become  jealous.  Czika  even  sleeps 
with  his  mother,  and  mamma  puts  her  to  bed  herself  every 
evening — or,  rather,  puts  her  on  her  couch,  for  Czika's 
bed  consists  as  yet  only  of  a  few  blankets  spread  on  the 
ground,  for  she  has  declared,  in  her  own  grave  and  sol- 
emn way:  "Czika  will  die  if  you  put  her  into  a  bed." 
The  little  one  retires  very  early — generally  as  soon  as  it 
is  dark  out-doors  ;  so  that  Oldenburg,  who  comes  over  at 
that  time  from  Cona,  does  not  find  her  any  more  in  the 
sitting-room.  He  has  occasionally  gone  with  Melitta 
and  stood  by  her  couch,  but  he  does  not  do  it  any  more, 
as  the  child  has  a  very  light  sleep,  and  the  slightest  noise 
wakes  her  up.  He  is  content  now  to  hear  from  Melitta 
that  "  their  daughter  "  is  doing  well,  that  she  has  been 
out  walking  or  riding  with  "  their  children,"  and  that 
"their  Czika  "  has  called  her  to-day  "mother,"  for  the 
first  time. 

"  I  fear  I  shall  never  hear  her  call  me  father,"  says 
Oldenburg,  sadly. 


372  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  We  must  be  patient,  Adalbert,"  replies  Melitta. 

Hermann  has  taken  more  pleasure  in  unpacking  his 
master's  trunks  than  in  packing  them  on  that  melan- 
choly day.  Oldenburg  thinks  no  longer  of  leaving,  since 
Melitta  has  asked  him  to  stay,  and  the  house  at  Berkow 
holds  everything  that  is  dear  to  his  heart.  Every  day 
towards  dark  his  sleigh  jingles  its  bells  in  the  court- 
yard of  Berkow,  and  the  young  widow  often  appears  on 
the  threshold  to  welcome  her  daily  visitor.  Since  the 
evening  on  w^aich  his  child  had  been  restored  to  him, 
Oldenburg  has  become  more  cheerful  than  he  has  ever 
been.  He  seems  to  have  taken  to  heart  Melitta's  words 
— that  it  would  be  best  to  bear  in  patience  w^iat  must 
be  borne.  He  knows  perfectly  well  what  the  beloved 
one  had  meant;  he  knows  why  she  cannot  yet  look 
straight  into  his  eyes  with  her  own  dear,  sweet  eyes. 
He  is  sorry  it  should  be  so ;  but  he,  who  knows 
Melitta's  noble  soul  better  than  anybody  else,  would 
have  wondered  most  if  it  had  been  otherwise.  Melitta 
no  longer  loves  the  man  who  has  conquered  her  heart 
in  an  unguarded  hour  and  in  a  storm  of  passion,  but  the 
wound  which  the  joy  and  the  sorrow  of  this  love  has 
inflicted  on  her  heart  is  still  bleeding,  and  here  also 
time  must  do  what  reasoning  cannot  accomplish.  The 
peculiar  situation  in  which  Oldenburg  stands  to  Melitta 
is  no  doubt  of  great  influence,  for  the  time,  on  his  whole 
manner  of  thinking  and  of  feeling.  He  has  laid  aside 
the  plans  for  the  improvement  of  the  world,  which  he 
formerly  cherished,  as  impracticable,  since  he  has  found 
that  he  will  have  need  of  all  his  patience,  prudence,  and 
caution  to  steer  the  vessel  that  bears  his  own  fortune  safely 
into  port.  He  is  all  the  more  interested  now  in  the  man- 
agement of  his  estates,  and  follows  the  politics  of  the  day 
with  unwearied  interest.  He  regrets,  when  the  repre- 
sentatives of  his  province  hold  tlicir  annual  meeting,  that 
he  has  dreamt  away  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile  the  time 
which  he  owed  to  his  country.  Now  it  seems  to  him  more 
important  to  discover  new  sources  of  public  prosperity 
than  those  of  tlie  Nile.  He  perceives  in  his  solitude 
the  first  traces  of  that  revolution  whicli  is  not  only 
threatening  in   France,  but  which  will   unchain  at  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  373 

first  outbreak  the  fearful  thunderstorm  tliat  is  now  hang- 
ing gloomily  over  his  own  country. 

Melitta  takes  a  lively  interest  in  all  his  hopes  and 
fears,  his  wislies  and  plans,  even  in  his  impatience  for 
the  speedy  coming  of  the  hour  which  he  feels  must 
come.  She  understands  it  perfectly  well  that  he  wants 
to  go  to  Paris  in  order  to  exchange  his  new  views  with 
his  old  friends  there.  He  knows  that  this  time  she  does 
not  wish  him  away,  but  only  thinks  of  himself,  and  on 
this  account  he  decides  to  go. 

Shortly  before  he  leaves,  Czika,  who  has  become 
somewhat  more  communicative,  tells  him  a  remarkable 
circumstance.  After  Paris  has  been  several  times  men- 
tioned in  her  presence,  the  child  suddenly  begins  to 
speak  of  an  old  man  who  had  accompanied  them  for  a 
long  time,  and  who  had  at  last  brought  them  to  this  very 
place.  Not  far  from  the  gates  of  Berkow,  she  says,  he 
turned  back.  That  man  also  had  intended  to  go  to 
Paris.  They  press  the  child,  and  at  last  there  remains 
no  doubt  that  the  old  man  of  whom  she  speaks  was 
Berger.  Who  can  tell  why  he  left  those  whom  he  had  so 
tenderly  befriended  almost  at  the  threshold  of  the  house .' 
Who  can  tell  what  the  strange  man  wants  in  Paris.? 
Perhaps  he  is  anxiovis  to  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel 
and  help  them  when  help  is  needed  ;  or,  it  may  be,  he  will 
only  convince  himself  that  the  restless  mountain  of  revo- 
lution is  once  more  to  give  birth  to — nought ! 

Still,  Oldenburg  is  startled  by  the  news.  He  has 
made  Berger's  acquaintance  in  Fichtenan,  when  he  was 
there  on  a  visit  to  Melitta.  He  had  then  had  many  a 
philosophical  and  political  conversation  with  the  shrewd, 
enthusiastic  man,  in  which  the  word  Revolution  was 
mentioned  quite  frequently. 

"The  musty  odor  of  casemates,  and  the  foul  air  of  a 
state  where  the  police  is  supreme,  which  I  have  been 
compelled  to  breathe  all  my  life,  have  made  me  what 
people  call  crazy,"  the  professor  had  once  said  ;  "  I  feel  as 
if  nothing  but  a  breathful  of  free  air  in  my  own  country 
would  ever  lift  the  burden  that  lies  here,"  and  with 
these  words  he  had  repeatedly  pointed  at  his  breast. 

"A  breathful   of  free  air  in  his  country!"  repeated 


374  ThroKgh  Night  to  Light. 

Oldenburg,  as  he  packed  his  trunks ;  "  yes,  indeed  !  thai 
would  ease  us  all,  every  one  of  us,  wonderfully !  " 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  baroness  had  with  her  own  tenacity  held  on  to 
her  plan  to  make  her  daughter  Princess  Walden- 
berg.  She  had  spared  no  trouble,  nay — what  was 
much  more  in  her  case — no  expense,  and  had  spent  an 
immense  amount  of  hypocritical  friendship  and  love, 
many  smooth  words,  and  still  smoother  compliments,  in 
order  to  fulfil  the  duty  of  an  affectionate  mother  towards 
her  daughter. 

She  had  conquered  the  ground  foot  by  foot.  In  the 
first  place,  Felix,  who  had  once  enjoyed  all  her  favor, 
and  who  was  now  fallen  so  low,  had  been  compelled  to 
leave  the  field,  and  to  take  his  trip  to  Nice,  according  to 
the  directions  of  the  physicians.  Felix  had  gone  quite 
willingly.  He  had  nothing  more  to  gain  in  Grunwald, 
and  nothing  to  lose  but  the  last  faint  hope  of  recovery. 
Flis  existence  in  Italy  had  been  secured  for  several  years 
by  his  generous  aunt,  who  knew  perfectly  well  that  he 
had  only  a  few  months  more  to  live.  He  had  arranged 
all  his  affairs,  and  spoken  candidly  to  his  aunt  about 
everything  except  that  one  unpleasant  story  about 
Timm.  He  left  Anna  Maria  under  the  pleasant  impres- 
sion that  the  impertinent  young  man  had  been  intimi- 
dated by  him,  and  that  he  had  been  satisfied  with  a  few 
hundred  dollars.  Felix,  of  course,  did  not  desire  to 
spoil  his  aunt's  good  humor  by  touching  this  sore  point, 
and  thus  to  ruin  his  own  prospects.  He  thought  he 
could  arrange  such  matters  much  better  in  writing,  and 
"when  she  sees  that  the  thing  cannot  be  helped,  she  will 
submit  to  it."  Thus  he  left  the  house,  followed  by  the 
sincere  good  wishes  of  his  uncle,  and  bedewed  with  the 
tears  of  his  aunt. 

"  Heaven   be   thanked,   he   is   gone !  "   thought    the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  375 

baroness,  as  she  returned  to  her  room  through  the  as- 
sembled servants,  pressing  her  handkerchief  upon  her 
eves;  "  now  for  Helen  to  come  back,  and — the  rest  will 
follow." 

On  the  same  day  she  paid  a  visit  to  the  boarding 
school,  and  had  first  a  long  conversation  with  Miss  Bear. 
The  baroness  was  very  tender  to-day.  She  had  just  said 
farewell  to  a  beloved  relative  Avhose  fate  oppressed  her 
heart,  and  who  went  probably  for  a  long  time,  perhaps 
forever — here  the  handkerchief  performed  its  duty  once 
more.  Her  heart  was  consequently  deeply  distressed. 
"Ah,  believe  me,  my  dear  Miss  Bear,"  she  said;  "it  is 
hard  to  have  to  part  in  such  a  way  with  a  young  man 
whom  1  have  loved  like  my  own  son  ;  to  have  to  see  his 
youthful  vigor  cruelly  broken,  and  with  it  all  the  fond 
hopes  which  had  been  cherished  for  his  future.  And 
poor  Helen,  also,  will  feel  the  blow  sadly ;  for,  if  I  am 
not  altogether  mistaken,  a  tender  attachment  had  begun 
to  bud  between  the  two  relatives,  whom  Heaven  itself 
seemed  to  have  formed  for  each  other.  An  aversion  which 
was  at  first  concealed,  as  it  happens  often  enovxgh,  by  an 
apparent  aversion,  and  that  so  successfully  that  I  myself 
was  deceived  for  a  time,  and — quite  entre  nous^  dear  Miss 
Bear — felt  quite  angry  against  the  poor  child.  Now  " — 
and  the  handkerchief  goes  once  more  to  the  eyes — "  now, 
I  know  better.  But  all  the  greater  is  my  desire  to  have 
my  dear  child  back  again.  Would  you  take  it  amiss,  my 
dear  Miss  Bear,  if  I  were  to  carry  off  the  precious  jewel 
so  soon  again,  after  having  entrusted  it  to  your  kind  and 
prudent  hands.'  " 

The  She  Bear  had  too  much  sense  not  to  perceive  the 
contradiction  in  the  former  and  the  present  manner  of 
the  baroness.  She  received,  therefore,  the  confidence  of 
the  great  ladv  with  great  reserve,  and  only  asked  whether 
Helen  was  to  return  to  the  paternal  home  at  once,  or 
only  at  a  later  time. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  leave  that  to  the  dear  child," 
replied  Anna  Maria,  still  afraid  of  a  possible  refusal 
on  Helen's  part.  "I  know  she  likes  to  be  here;  and, 
besides,  I  should  not  like  to  interfere  in  any  way  with 
her   studies,  her  plans,  and  even  her  fancies.      Helen 


376  Through  Night  to  Light. 

knows  my  wishes.  For  the  present,  therefore,  I  would 
only  ask  you,  dear  Miss  Bear,  to  use  your  influence  over 
my  child  in  my  favor — in  favor  of  a  poor  woman  who 
is  sorely  afflicted  by  a  grievous  loss." 

Anna  Maria  had  scarcely  left  the  institute  when  Miss 
Bear  went  up  to  Helen  to  communicate  to  her  the  con- 
versation she  had  just  had.  She  had  taken  off  her  gold 
spectacles  for  that  purpose  ;  she  had  smoothed  down  the 
official  wrinkles  on  her  brow,  and  carried  up  with  her  as 
much  kindly  feeling  as  a  sober,  pedantic  She  Bear  can 
possibly  feel  for  a  fair  young  girl  who,  in  her  opinion, 
has  been  badly  treated  by  her  mother. 

"  Let  us  be  candid  with  each  other,  dear  Helen,"  said 
Miss  Bear,  taking  the  slender  white  hand  of  the  young 
lady  familiarly  into  her  own  bony  hands.  "  My  dear 
Sophie,  who  has  just  written  to  me,  and  who  sends  you 
much  love,  has  informed  me  at  the  beginning  of  our 
acquaintance  of  certain  facts  which  helped  me  to  under- 
stand what  would  otherwise  be  inexplicable  in  the  con- 
duct of  your  mother.  You  need  not  blush,  my  dear 
child ;  not  a  word  has  been  said  that  could  injure  you 
in  my  eyes ;  on  the  contrary,  Sophie  and  myself  have 
only  pitied  you  heartily,  that  you  should  have  so  much 
to  suffer  while  you  are  still  so  young.  We  looked  upon 
your  removal  from  your  father's  house  as  upon  a  kind 
of  banishment,  and  we  thought  at  the  same  time  you 
might  find  a  desirable  asylum  here.  If  this  is  so,  and 
if  you  still  look  upon  it  in  that  light,  pray  say  so.  It  is 
not  my  way  to  create  discord,  especially  between  mother 
and  daughter,  but  as  matters  are,  I  do  not  think  it  can 
be  wrong  in  me  to  choose  what  side  I  like  best." 

The  She  Bear  paused.  Helen  seemed  to  be  more  af- 
fected than  she  generally  showed,  but  her  self-control 
did  not  fail  her  even  now.     Almost  cheerfully  she  said, 

"  You  are  very  kind.  Miss  Bear;  kinder  indeed  than 
I  deserve  ;  but  your  friendly  interest  in  me  has  probably 
made  my  mother's  conduct  appear  in  too  unfavorable  a 
light  to  you.  We  have,  for  a  time,  stood  in  somewhat 
d(;cided  opposition  to  each  other ;  but  I  hope  mamma 
has  forgotten  it  all  as  completely  as  I  have.  You  know 
how  fond  I  am  of  your  house,  and  how  much  I  like  to 


Through  Night  to  Light.  377 

be  here  ;  but  if  my  mother  really  wishes  me  to  return,  as 
it  seems  she  does,  I  should  consider  it  my  duty  to  obey 
her  wishes,  without  asking  whether  it  agrees  with  my 
own  wishes  or  not." 

Tlie  She  Bear  was  by  no  means  particularly  pleased 
with  this  answer.  She  had  opened  her  heart  to  the 
young  girl ;  she  had,  to  a  certain  extent,  committed 
herself  in  order  to  win  Helen's  confidence;  and  now, 
instead  of  confidence,  instead  of  frankness,  she  met  noth- 
ing but  reserve  and  diplomatic  prudence !  The  good 
old  ladv  felt  deeply  hurt,  and  left  the  room  with  pain 
at  her  heart,  after  having  skilfully  led  the  conversation 
into  another  channel. 

The  baroness  had  shown  by  lier  conduct  to-day  that 
she  knew  the  heart  of  her  daughter,  at  least  in  one  di- 
rection. It  flattered  Helen's  pride  that  her  mother 
should  not  even  venture  to  come  with  her  request  di- 
rectly to  lier,  but  prefer  hiding  behind  Miss  Bear.  She 
had  decided,  on  the  evening  on  which  she  wrote  to  Mary 
Burton,  that  she  would  return  to  her  father's  house. 
While  she  was  describing  the  triumphs  she  had  enjoyed 
in  the  salons  of  her  mother,  and  the  homage  that  had 
been  offered  her  on  all  sides,  she  had  felt  a  delight 
which,  to  call  it  by  its  proper  name,  was  nothing  else 
but  the  sweet  sense  of  gratified  vanity  after  deep  humi- 
liation. Helen's  friendship  for  Mary  Burton  by  no 
means  excluded  envy — for  such  are  the  friendships  of 
girls;  and  Miss  Burton  had,  it  must  be  confessed,  done 
all  she  could  do  to  fan  the  .fire  of  this  evil  passion  in 
her  friend's  heart.  The  young  English  girl  had  no 
sooner  returned  to  her  country  from  the  boarding-school 
in  Hamburg  than  slie  had  made  a  great  match,  marrying 
one  of  the  most  eligible  men  in  all  England.  Helen 
recollected  very  well  how  the  romance  which  had  come 
so  suddenly  to  a  happy  end  had  first  commenced.  She 
and  Mary,  then  girls  of  fourteen,  had  made  a  trip  to 
Heligoland  in  company  with  the  principal  of  the  school 
and  half  a  dozen  other  girls  from  Hamburg,  and  on  this 
occasion  they  had  gone  on  board  a  British  man-of-war, 
lying  at  anchor  there.  The  officers  had,  of  course,  re- 
ceived their  charming  visitors  with  the  greatest  courtesy, 


378  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  after  refreshments  had  been  offered,  they  had  wound 
up  with  an  exceedingly  pleasant  little  ball  on  the  main 
deck.  The  captain  of  the  frigate,  a  handsome  young 
man,  with  a  dark  sunburnt  complexion,  had  especially 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  young  ladies^  and  would 
have  been  still  more  popular  with  them  all  if  he  had 
not  so  signally  distinguished  his  countrywoman,  Mary 
Burton.  The  consequence  was  that  Miss  Mary  Burton 
was  henceforth  incessantly  teased  about  the  handsome 
captain,  until  at  last  the  trip  to  Heligoland  and  all  that 
belonged  to  it  was  forgotten  amid  new  and  more  stir- 
ring events.  But  two  persons  had  never  forgotten  it, 
and  these  two  were  the  captain  and  Miss  Mary  Burton. 
When  the  yoimg  lady  returned  to  England,  three  years 
later,  one  of  the  first  persons  she  met  at  the  house  of  a 
relative,  a  great  lady  in  town,  was  Captain  Crawley,  who 
now,  since  his  father  and  elder  brother  had  died,  was 
Lord  Crawley  and  the  owner  of  a  magnificent  property. 
A  week  later  the  fashionable  world  was  surprised  by  the 
marriage  of  his  lordship  with  Miss  Mary  Burton,  a  young 
lady  utterly  unknown  before.  But  no  one  was  more 
painfully  struck  by  this  news  than  Helen  Grenwitz. 
She  had  been  Mary's  most  intimate  friend ;  she  had  al- 
ways been  seen  with  her,  spoken  of  with  her ;  but,  and 
this  was  the  bitter  thing,  she  had  always  been  considered 
the  prettiest  by  far  and  the  most  striking,  and  nobody 
had  acquiesced  more  readily  in  this  decision  than  Mary 
in  her  modesty.  Mary  worshipped  her  brilliant  friend  ; 
Helen  Grenwitz  was  in  her  eyes  an  inapproachable  beau 
ideal;  she  invariably  submitted  to  her  better  judgment ; 
and  when  the  two  girls  built  their  castles  in  the  air  for 
the  future,  Mary  built  magnificent  palaces  for  Helen, 
and  contented  herself  Avith  a  thatched  cottage  by  the 
side  of  a  purling  brook.  Helen  had  accepted  this  wor- 
ship as  a  princess  accepts  the  attentions  of  her  ladies  in 
waiting.  Mary  had  told  her  so  often  that  she  was  the 
most  beautiful,  the  most  charming  of  the  two — Helen 
would  have  been  a  marvel  of  nature  if,  with  her  pride 
and  self-sufficiency,  she  had  been  able  to  resist  the  effects 
of  this  affectionate  worship. 

And  now  it  was  this  humble  friend  who  made  such  a 


Through  Night  to  Light.  379 

brilliant  match,  which  raised  her  at  once  to  the  very 
highest  rank  in  society,  and  actually  brought  her  in  con- 
nection with  more  than  one  sovereign  family,  while  she 
— Helen  dared  not  think  it  out.  But  now,  when  an  op- 
portunity offered  to  escape  from  this  humiliating  posi- 
tion ;  now,  when  even  her  proud  mother  condescended 
to  proffer  a  request  which  she  did  not  dare  present  in 
person ;  now  there  could  be  no  doubt  any  longer  as  to 
what  she  ought  to  do;  and  Miss  Bear,  who  offered  her 
with  troublesome  kindness  an  asylum  at  her  institute, 
simply  did  not  know  how  matters  stood  at  that  moment. 

When  Miss  Bear  had  left  her,  Helen  walked  up  and 
down  in  her  room  with  folded  arms.  At  last  she 
stepped  to  the  window  and  gazed  into  the  autumnal 
evening.  On  the  sky,  heavy  dark  clouds  were  drifting 
slowly  ;  below  them  light-gray  little  clouds  passed  with 
the  swiftness  of  arrows.  The  almost  bare  branches  of 
the  slender  poplar-trees  rocked  to  and  fro  in  the  sharp 
wind  which  hissed  and  whistled  through  the  few  leaves, 
while  a  crow  came  flapping  her  wings,  sat  for  a  few  mo- 
ments on  the  topmost  branch  of  one  of  the  trees,  rock- 
ing restlessly  to  and  fro,  cawed  as  if  the  inhospitable 
treatment  was  too  provoking,  and  flew  away  again. 
Helen  opened  the  window.  The  cool,  damp  breath  of 
evening  brought  her  the  sharp  odor  of  mouldering 
leaves.  The  poplars  in  the  garden  rustled  louder,  and 
the  tall  beeches  in  the  park  waved  ghastly,  and  every 
now  and  then  the  low  roar  of  the  waves  of  the  sea 
came  in  monotonous  intervals  far  inland. 

She  looked  out;  she  did  not  mind  the  damp  air  which 
in  an  instant  covered  her  black  hair  with  a  dewy  veil ; 
she  only  stared  more  perseveringly  into  the  evening  as 
it  grew  darker  every  moment.  Strange  visions  passed 
through  her  mind.  Proud  palaces  rose  by  the  side  of 
blue  lakes,  in  which  dark  forests  were  reflected;  and 
from  the  palace  came  a  merry  hunting  train  with  horn 
and  bugle ;  and  at  the  head  of  the  long  procession  rode 
a  lady  on  a  small  horse  by  the  side  of  a  man  who  negli- 
gently curbed  his  fiery  black  liorse  and  never  turned 
his  dark  face  from  the  young  lady  by  his  side;  and  all, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach — castle  and  lake  and  forests 


380  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  fields,  which  spread  down,  down  along  the  lake, 
and  far,  far  into  the  country — all  belonged  to  the  young 
lady  and  her  husband,  the  knight  on  the  proud  horse. 
And  then  castle  and  forests  and  fields  sank  into  the  lake, 
and  the  lake  grew  into  a  sea  which  beat  high  up  against 
the  white  chalk-cliffs  with  their  crown  of  lofty  beech 
forests ;  and  up  there  on  the  high  bank,  in  the  glow  of 
the  setting  sun,  stood  the  same  young  lady  who  had 
been  riding  on  the  small  graceful  horse  by  the  side  of  a 
man  who  was  not  the  cavalier  on  the  black  horse,  and 
they  looked  both  out  upon  the  glorious  sight  as  the  sun 
sank  in  the  swelling  masses  of  waves;  and  as  they  stood 
and  looked,  they  folded  their  hands  like  praying  children, 
and  looked  at  each  other  with  eyes  full  of  love  and  over- 
flowing with  tears. 

The  wind  rushed  Avildly  through  the  poplars,  and  the 
young  girl  started  up  from  her  reveries.  She  cast  a 
glance  at  the  dim  twilight  that  was  hovering  over  the 
park.  Two  figures — a  man  and  a  woman — were  passing 
the  open  space  between  the  bosquets,  walking  arm  in 
arm.  It  Avas  only  an  instant,  but  the  sharp  eye  of  the 
young  girl  had  recognized  them  both ;  at  least  she 
thought  she  had  recognized  them.  A  feeling  such  as 
she  had  never  yet  experienced  overcame  her.  She 
must  be  sure  that  she  had  seen  correctly — that  Oswald 
S^:ein  had  really  met  Emily  Cloten  at  this  hour  here  in 
this  place.  The  next  moment  she  had  wrapped  herself 
up  in  a  shawl,  put  on  a  hat  with  a  close  veil,  and  had 
hurried  down  the  stairs  which  led  into  the  garden, 
and  was  now  standing  at  the  gate  that  led  from  the 
garden  into  the  park.  All  of  a  sudden  her  courage  left 
her.  She  was  ashamed  of  an  impulse  that  had  misled 
her,  and  made  her  take  so  unwomanly  a  step,  of  which 
she  heartily  repented.  She  was  just  about  to  turn  back 
again,  when  the  two  figures  once  more  came  up  the 
avenue  which  led  past  the  garden  gate.  She  hid  behind 
one  of  the  pillars  of  the  gate,  so  as  not  to  be  seen ;  but 
a  single  glance  at  the  two  had  convinced  her  that  she 
had  not  been  mistaken  before.  There  was  no  doubt : 
it  was  Oswald  and  Emily  who  were  passing  her,  lost  in 
secret,  anxious  conversation.     Helen's  heart  beat  as  if  it 


Through  Night  to  Light.  381 

would  burst.  She  understood  now  why  Emily  asked  her 
the  other  day  if  she  had  any  news  of  Oswald  Stein  ;  she 
understood  now  Emily's  anxiety  at  the  ball  at  Grenwitz, 
when  Cloten  and  the  other  young  noblemen  were  loudly 
threatening  Oswald  .  .  .  Fooled  then  !  and  fooled  by 
whom  ?  By  a  man  who  could  not  resist  Emily  Cloten. 
Helen  crept  back  to  her  room,  threw  aside  hat  and 
shawl,  and  now  it  was  settled  that  she  would  return  to 
her  parents. 


I 


CHAPTER     XIII. 

PRINCE  WALDENBERG  had  not  been  able  to  find 
anything  to  interest  him  in  Grunwald  until  he  had 
become  acquainted  with  Helen  Grenwitz.  He 
could  not  exactly  say  that  he  was  tired  of  it,  or  that  the 
town  and  the  people  had  been  particularly  unpleasant 
to  him,  for  he  scarcely  knew  such  a  state  of  mind ;  at 
least  he  never  showed  any  symptoms  of  weariness  or 
disgust.  His  stern,  rigid  face  never  betrayed  pleasure 
or  annoyance;  it  looked  as  if  his  features  had  been  frozen, 
for  all  time  to  come,  in  the  northern  climate  in  Avhich 
the  prince  was  born,  and  as  if  they  could  not  thaw  in 
the  glow  of  love  or  of  hatred.  And  it  was  really  so,  to 
a  certain  extent.  The  ordinary  sensations  of  common 
mortals  were  not  capable  of  that  sublime  self-conscious- 
ness which  was  given  to  him.  He  could  not  laugh  at 
the  wittiest  anecdote,  nor  could  he  look  disgvisted  at  a 
stupidity.  His  servants  never  heard  a  bad  word  from 
him  ;  he  never  showed  childish  wrath  before  his  soldiers. 
Nevertheless  the  men  trembled  before  him,  and  even 
the  general  did  not  inspire  half  as  much  respect  as  First- 
Lieutenant  Prince  Waldenberg ;  for  the  servants  knew 
that  their  master  never  scolded,  but  dismissed  them  upon 
the  slightest  neglect,  and  the  men  had  terrible  stories  to 
tell  about  him  in  the  guardhouse  and  in  the  barracks. 
The  rumor  was  that  the  prince  had  the  unpleasant  habit, 
if  a  soldier  showed  the  faintest  sign  of  insubordination, 


382  Through  Night  to  Light. 

of  killing  him  on  the  spot — a  habit  which  he  had  quite 
recently  indulged  in  at  the  capital,  and  which  had  led  to 
his  being  detached  from  the  Guards  and  sent  to  a  line 
regiment  in  garrison  at  Grunwald.  The  story  was 
probably  a  myth,  like  so  many  others ;  the  prince  had 
been  sent  to  Grunwald  in  order  to  study  fortification 
and  coast  and  harbor  defence,  and  other  useful  branches, 
in  preparation  for  the  high  position  to  which  he  was  en- 
titled, if  not  by  his  military  genius,  at  all  events  by  his 
high  rank  ;  but  the  myth  proved  how  the  common  people, 
who  have  a  very  keen  eye  for, the  virtues  and  the  faults 
of  the  higher  classes,  thought  about  First-Lieutenant 
Prince  Waldenberg.  The  officers,  however,  seemed  also 
to  treat  him  on  their  part  with  some  misgivings,  and 
certainly  with  great  circumspection.  No  one  presumed 
to  speak  to  him  at  the  mess-table,  or  at  night  at  the  club, 
or  wherever  else  they  happened  to  meet,  in  that  cordial 
tone  which  is  generally  used  between  comrades.  On  the 
contrary,  they  rather  avoided  him,  and,  when  that  was 
not  possible,  they  confined  their  words  to  what  was  in- 
dispensable ;  especially  the  captain  of  the  company  to 
which  the  prince  was  attached — a  gentleman  like  a  ball, 
who  barely  reached  up  to  the  shoulder  of  his  lieutenant, 
and  who  felt  probably  all  the  smaller  by  his  side  as  he 
was  not  even  noble.  It  was  most  amusing  to  hear 
Captain  Miller  at  drill  exclaim,  in  almost  piteous  tones, 
"  First-Lieutenant  Prince  Waldenberg  will  have  the 
kindness  to  step  forward — a  mere  thought!"  and  even 
the  old,  gray-headed  sergeant  could  hardly  keep  from 
smiling. 

The  prince  was  thus  very  much  left  to  his  own  com- 
pany, even  at  the  evening  parties,  which  he  occasionally 
frequented.  He  met  here  again  his  comrades,  who  had 
already  avoided  him  at  parade,  and  a  lot  of  old  and 
young  country  gentlemen,  whose  talk  about  tillage  and 
cattle-raising  could  not  exactly  interest  him  much  who 
had  more  estates  than  they  had  acres  of  land,  and  more 
shepherds  than  they  had  sheep.  As  for  the  ladies — why 
there  were  some  very  pleasant  ones  among  them,  like 
the  beautiful  Misses  Frederika,  Nathalie  and  Gabriella 
Nadelitz,  Hortense  Barnewitz,  a  trilic  passec  but  all  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  383 

more  clever  and  interesting,  Emily  Cloten  as  piquante 
as  she  was  coquettish — but  they  were  either  not  to  the 
taste  of  his  highness,  or  the  prince  was  altogether  inac- 
cessible to  the  charms  of  the  fair  sex.  For  a  time,  at 
least,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  not  disposed  to  pay  special 
attention  to  any  one  of  these  ladies. 

But  no  sooner  had  the  prince  seen  the  beautiful  Helen 
Grenwitz  in  the  salons  of  her  mother  than  the  rumor 
began  to  spread — nobody  knew  how — that  his  highness 
was  very  much  pleased  with  beautiful  Helen  Gren- 
witz, and  that  an  engagement  was  not  very  far  off.  The 
report  continued  to  live,  and  was  even  confirmed  by  nu- 
merous details,  the  discovery  of  which  did  great  honor 
to  the  ingenuity  of  the  before-mentioned  lovers  of  gos- 
sip and  watchers  of  features.  The  Countess  Grieben 
knew  positively  that  the  prince  was  spending  every 
evening  at  the  Grenwitz  mansion  ;  others  had  it  that 
he  passed  the  institute  of  Miss  Bear's  daily  after  dress- 
parade,  on  his  superb  Tcherkessian  stallion ;  and  still 
others,  that  he  was  frequently  seen  at  night  walking 
up  and  down  for  hours  before  the  house,  concealed 
in  a  large  cloak.  Hortense  Barnewitz  whispered  into 
Countess  Stilow's  ear:  "Now  I  know  why  poor  Felix 
had  so  suddenly  to  go  to  Italy ;  "  and  the  Countess  Stilow 
whispered  in  reply:  "  You'll  see,  dear  Hortense;  it  will 
not  be  a  week  before  Helen,  who  seemed  to  be  banished 
forever,  will  be  back  again." 

A  smile  of  satisfaction  lighted  up  all  faces  when  the 
prophecy  of  the  toothless  Countess  Stilow  was  actually 
fulfilled,  and  Helen  Grenwitz  exchanged  her  modest 
little  room  in  Miss  Bear's  boarding-school  for  the  stately 
rooms  of  the  Grenwitz  mansion. 

It  was  strange,  however,  that  the  old  baron,  who  had 
so  urgently  desired  this  ste.p  before,  should  now  seem 
to  be  least  pleased  with  it  of  all.  The  old  gentleman 
had  of  late  become  exceedingly  capricious,  obstinate, 
and  violent,  so  that  one  hardly  recognized  in  him  the 
kind  good-natured  man  of  former  days,  and  everybody 
pitied  and  admired  poor  Anna  Maria,  who  bore  her  cross 
with  truly  Christian  patience  and  forbearance. 

"  Ah,  you  may  believe  me,  dear  Helen,"  the  excellent 


384  Through  Night  to  Light. 

old  lady  said  to  her  daugh*:er  on  the  first  evening  after 
her  return,  as  they  were  sitting  on  the  sofa  in  the  recep- 
tion-room, and  after  the  baron  had  left  the  room  to  re- 
tire ;  "  it  is  very  difficult  now  to  get  along  with  your 
father,  and  I  need  your  kind  support  more  than  ever. 
Malte  is  too  young,  and  I  fear  too  heartless,  to  put  any 
confidence  in  him.  I  am  so  long  accustomed  to  bear 
all  alone  that  I  can  hardly  realize  the  happiness  of 
having  a  friend  and  a  confidante."  And  the  good  lady 
shed  tears  while  she  was  gathering  up  her  work  in 
order  to  follow  her  husband. 

The  relations  between  mother  and  daughter  seemed 
indeed  to  promise  a  better  understanding  for  the  future. 
It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  either  of  them  to  be  particu- 
larly affectionate.  They  treated  each  other  as  adversaries 
who  have  mutually  tried  their  strength  and  found  out 
that  they  had  better  be  friends  again. 

After  Anna  Maria  had  thus  taken  the  second  step  to- 
ward the  attainment  of  her  end  she  pursued  her  plan  with 
greater  security.  She  had  every  reason  to  be  pleased 
with  the  results.  Prince  Waldenberg  came  almost 
every  evening  ;  and  as  he  did  not  play  cards,  and  it  could 
not  well  be  presumed  that  he  found  many  charms  in 
the  conversation  with  Count  and  Countess  Grieben, 
who  were  near  neighbors,  and  also  came  very  frequently 
to  play  a  game  with  the  baron  and  the  baroness,  the 
magnet  could  be  none  other  than  Helen,  with  whom, 
indeed,  he  spent  the  whole  of  his  time. 

Anna  Maria  took  care  that  the  prince  and  Helen 
should  not  be  disturbed  more  than  was  unavoidable ; 
and  as  in  these  circles  the  older  people  had  no  other 
way  of  spending  time  than  in  playing  cards,  and  young 
people  were  but  rarely  invited,  the  task  Avas  not  very 
difficult.  The  prince  and  Helen  spent  long  hours  alone 
in  the  little  boudoir  by  the  side  of  the  large  room  with 
three  windows,  where  the  card-tables  were  placed,  at 
least  until  supper  was  announced,  and  even  then  they 
were  generally  again  left  very  nearly  to  themselves,  as 
the  others  liad  to  discuss  the  different  games  that  had 
been  played. 

It  was  most  creditable  for  the  conversational  powers 


Through  Night  to  Light.  3 85 

of  the  prince  that  the  young  lady,  witii  her  pretentions, 
was  yet  never  tired  of  these  interviews.  And  yet,  what 
he  said  could  not  be  called  interesting,  exactly ;  at  all 
events  the  manner  in  which  he  said  it  was  not  so.  He 
was  never  heard  to  speak  in  that  animated  and  quick 
manner  which  is  peculiar  to  young  people  (and  the 
prince  was  very  young  yet,  perhaps  twenty-four),  espe- 
cially when  they  speak  of  favorite  topics,  or  are  excited 
by  opposition.  It  was  always  the  same  monotonous  ut- 
terance, as  if  the  words  were  men  and  the  sentences  sec- 
tions, and  they  were  all  marching  about,  carefully  keep- 
ing pace.  It  was  significative,  also,  that  the  prince  pre- 
ferred speaking  French,  a  language  which  has  naturally 
such  a  logical  rhythm,  although  he  spoke  German  as  well 
and  as  fluently.  It  was  perhaps  due  to  this  fact — that 
the  conversation  was  almost  exclusively  carried  on  in  a 
foreign  idiom — that  Helen  felt  the  strange  character  of 
his  mind  so  much  less.  For  the  prince  was,  after  all,  in 
his  appearance,  and  not  less  so  in  his  manner  of  think- 
ing and  feeling,  more  of  a  Russian  than  of  a  German. 
All  the  memories  of  his  childhood  and  youth,  with  the 
only  exception  of  the  short  time  which  he  had  spent  in 
France,  and  more  recently  in  Germany,  were  Russian. 
He  had  been  page  at  the  court  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas, 
and  the  daily  sight  of  this  magnificent  monarch,  with 
whom  he  was  even  said  to  share  certain  peculiarities  of 
figure  and  carriage,  had  probably  not  been  without 
influence  on  the  character  of  the  young  prince.  He  had 
received  a  purely  military  education  among  the  cadets 
of  the  Michailow  palace,  the  same  palace  whose  vast 
apartments  witnessed  in  that  fearful  night  the  murder 
of  an  emperor,  when  the  wife  of  Paul  I.,  frightened  by 
the  low  sound  of  a  number  of  voices  and  clanking  of 
arms,  snatched  the  young  Princes  Nicholas  and  Michael 
from  their  beds  and  hastened  with  them  through  tlie 
long  suit  of  rooms  to  the  emperor's  apartments,  when 
icy  Count  Pahlen  met  her,  carried  her  almost  forcibly 
back  to  her  rooms,  and  locking  the  door  carefully,  said  : 
"  Restez  tra/iqiiilic,  madanic;  il  ny  a  pas  de  danger  pour  voiis." 
The  prince  had  quite  a  number  of  similar  stories,  and 
they  did  not  fail  to  have  their  eff'ect  upon  the  mind  of 
17 


386  Through  Night  to  Light. 

the  fanciful  girl.  It  was  a  new  version  of  the  adven- 
tures with  which  the  warlike  Moor  filled  the  heart  of 
the  daughter  of  the  Venetian  patrician.  Desdemona 
also  shuddered  at  the  blood  flowing  in  streams,  through 
his  accounts,  but  the  hero  appeared  only  the  more  mar- 
vellovis ;  and  although  Helen  often  felt  an  icy  breath 
rising  from  these  palace  souvenirs  of  the  Russian  page, 
she  was  none  the  less  captivated  and  ensnared  by  the 
secrecy  and  the  horrors  that  surrounded  them  with  an 
irresistible  charm.  She  dreamt  of  a  life  in  comparison 
with  which  the  life  she  was  now  leading  appeared  very 
pitiful  and  mean.  She  saw  herself  a  lady  in  waiting  at 
a  court  where  beauty  and  cleverness  are  all-powerful ; 
she  fancied  herself  the  soul  of  grand  enterprises,  as 
the  confidante  of  generals  and  statesmen  ;  and  then  she 
started  from  her  reveries  and  looked  at  the  calm,  dark 
face  of  the  giant  who  had  rocked  her  to  sleep  with  his 
strange  stories,  and  she  asked  herself  whether  she  would 
ever  venture  to  enter,  on  his  hand,  those  lofty  regions 
towards  which  she  was  drawn  by  the  ardent  wishes  of 
her  proud,  ambitious  heart. 

The  prince  must  have  been  particularly  interested  in 
winning  the  young  girl's  confidence,  for  he  laid  aside 
the  cool  reserve  with  which  he  treated  all  others  when 
he  was  alone  with  her.  He  even  spoke  of  his  family 
with  the  greatest  frankness.  He  told  her  that,  as  for  his 
parents,  he  only  knew  his  mother  really,  because  he  saw 
his  father  but  very  rarely.  His  mother  was  living  in 
St.  Petersburg,  where  her  influence  at  court  was  still 
very  great,  although  an  incurable  affection  had  sadly 
disfigured  the  once  surpassingly  beautiful  woman,  and 
made  her  a  melancholy  enthusiast.  His  father,  Count 
Malikovvsky,  he  said,  was  spending  most  of  his  time  in 
travelling  and  at  watering-places,  as  he  was  still  passion- 
ately fond  of  the  pleasures  of  life  in  spite  of  his  age  and 
his  delicate  health,  and  thus  could  combine  at  these  Spas 
pleasure  and  profit.  He,  the  prince,  had,  properly 
speaking,  nothing  to  do  with  his  father.  They  ex- 
changed short  letters  with  each  other  once  or  twice  a 
year,  on  special  occasions ;  he  had  seen  his  father  the 
last  time  at  the  capital,  when  he  was  swearing  his  oath 


Through  Night  to  Light.  38? 

of  allegiance  to  the  king,  and  he  had  been  shocked  by 
the  sad  appearance  of  the  old  gentleman,  which  the  lat- 
ter had  tried  in  vain  to  conceal  by  the  subtlest  arts  of 
the  toilette.  The  count  and  the  princess  harmonized 
very  little,  as  their  characters  were  so  utterly  different. 
The  count  went  once  a  year  to  St.  Petersburg,  appeared 
at  court,  showed  himself  once  or  twice  at  the  Letbus 
House,  and  disappeared  again,  in  order  to  send  friendly 
greetings  for  another  year  from  Hamburg,  Baden-Baden, 
Pyrmont,  etc. 

Nor  did  the  prince  conceal  his  views  on  other  sub- 
jects. He  had  evidently  thought  much  about  matters 
which  are  usually  of  no  interest  to  young  men  of  his 
rank ;  but  as  he  was  far  from  being  brilliant,  and  as  he 
looked  upon  everything  from  the  unchangeable  stand- 
point of  the  officer  and  the  aristocrat,  his  views  and 
thoughts  were  all  more  or  less  stiff  and  wooden,  as  if  they 
had  been  so  many  well-drilled  recruits. 

Of  his  profession  he  thought  very  highly. 

"  I  consider  the  soldier's  profession,"  he  said,  "  not 
only  the  noblest,  but  also  the  most  useful ;  the  noblest, 
because  here  alone  every  faculty  of  man  is  roused  and 
developed;  the  most  useful,  because  it  is  the  only  secu- 
rity for  all  the  other  professions,  which  cannot  exist 
without  it.  If  the  peasant  wishes  to  raise  his  cabbages, 
if  the  mechanic  wants  to  sit  quietly  in  his  work-shop, 
the  artist  in  his  atelier,  and  the  scholar  in  his  study — 
they  must  all  thank  the  soldier,  who  for  their  sake  stands 
guard  at  the  town-gate,  patrols  tlie  streets  at  night,  dis- 
perses noisy  revellers,  and  fights  the  enemy  when  he 
threatens  the  country.  Compared  with  this  profession, 
all  others  are  low  and  vulgar.  And  that  it  is  beyond 
doubt  the  highest  and  noblest,  is  proved  by  the  fact  that 
the  rulers  of  the  earth  adopt  its  costume  for  their  daily 
wear,  or  at  least  for  all  solemn  occasions.  Therefore 
I  think  that  nobles  alone  ought  to  be  officers.  And  I 
think  it  a  deplorable  mistake  that,  of  late,  others  also 
have  been  admitted  to  our  ranks,  for  which  the  penalty 
will  have  to  be  paid  sooner  or  later." 

"  But  do  you  really  think  that  all  who  are  not  nobles 
are  unfit  for  this  profession.'  "  asked  Helen. 


388  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  prince,  with  energy.  "  Sport 
and  war  ought  to  be  reserved  for  the  nobility,  not  be- 
cause those  who  are  not  noble  cannot  also  fire  a  gun 
or  wield  a  sword,  but  because  they  cannot  do  it  in  the 
right  spirit.  Nor  is  this  mere  theory  ;  the  question  has 
its  practical  side  also.  The  spirit  of  innovation,  of  in- 
solent disobedience  to  the  order  of  things  as  ordained 
by  God,  is  everywhere  stirring.  In  our  state  they  have 
most  unfortunately  attempted  to  keep  it  down  by  gentle 
means  and  by  concessions.  I  believe  that  sternness  and 
severity  alone  can  check  this  spirit.  We  are  sure  of  the 
men  who  have  been  for  three  years  under  our  control 
and  influence;  but  we  are  not  sure  of  the  officer  who  is  not 
noble.  Send  a  platoon  under  a  Lieutenant  Smith,  or 
Jones,  against  a  rebellious  mob,  and  ten  to  one  he  will 
see  among  the  mob  a  brother  Smith,  or  a  cousin  Jones, 
and  therefore  hesitate  to  give  the  command  Fire  !  at 
the  right  moment.  Take  your  officers  from  the  nobility, 
and  only  from  the  nobility,  and  such  a  thing  cannot 
happen  ;  and  you  can  quell  the  rising  of  a  whole  town 
like  Grunwald  with  a  single  battalion." 

The  prince  spoke  with  great  energy  and  strong  con- 
demnation of  the  concessions  which  the  king  had  made 
that  spring  to  the  liberal  party,  and  to  the  spirit  of  the 
times  generally,  by  convoking  a  legislative  assembly  of 
the  whole  people. 

"  I  do  not  see,"  he  said,  "where  this  is  to  end.  If  the 
king  does  not  wish — and  I  believe  he  really  does  not  wish 
— that  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  they  call  a  constitution, 
should  rise  between  him  and  the  people,  according  to 
which  he  is  forced  to  govern,  whether  he  will  or  not, 
then  he  ought  not  to  have  conjured  up  even  the  shadow 
of  a  constitution.  The  shadow  is  soon  followed  by  the 
substance.  I  confess  that  I  am  disgusted  by  the  patience 
of  the  king,  while  these  fellows  cry  so  loud ;  and  that  I 
have  long  doubted  whether  I  could  honorably  serve  a 
monarch  who  thus  misjudges  the  duty  of  a  king  '  by  the 
grace  of  God.' " 

When  the  prince  was  thus  judging  things  by  the  stand- 
ard of  his  Russian  ideas  of  absolute  government,  it  some- 
times happened  that  there  arose  in  Helen's  naturally 


Through  Night  to  Light.  389 

good  and  affectionate  heart  a  repugnance,  not  vinmixed 
with  terror,  towards  one  who  could  utter  sucli  inhuman 
thoughts  in  cold  blood.  At  other  times  she  would  have 
shrunk  from  tlie  fearful  consequences  of  such  principles, 
but  now  she  was  too  deeply  irritated  by  the  wound  which 
Oswald's  treacliery  had  inflicted  on  her  proud  heart,  and, 
as  is  the  case  with  violent  dispositions,  she  had  hastened 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other.  Helen  hated  Oswald. 
She  wept  tears  of  indignation  and  of  shame  when  she 
thought  how  dear  this  man  had  been  to  her,  and  how 
near  she  had  been  to  the  danger  of  showing  him  her  love 
for  him.  The  treachery  itself  was  no  longer  doubtful 
to  her  mind.  Emily's  manner  had  changed  so  strikingly 
of  late  that  even  outsiders  had  noticed  it.  The  young 
lady  who  had  formerly  found  happiness  only  in  the 
Avildest  turmoil  of  pleasure,  now  avoided  society  as  much 
as  she  had  formerly  sought  it ;  and  when  she  could  not 
escape  from  invitations  to  her  former  circles,  she  seemed 
to  have  only  scoffing  and  scorn  for  all  she  had  admired 
in  other  days.  She  declared  that  the  officers  were  stu- 
pid, dancing  a  childish  amusement,  and  a  masked  ball 
the  height  of  absurdity.  She  treated  the  ladies  with 
undisguised  irony,  and  the  men  with  open  contempt, 
especially  her  husband,  who  did  not  know  what  to  make 
of  the  strange  change,  and  only  discovered  gradually 
the  one  fact,  that  of  all  the  many  foolish  things  which 
Albert  Cloten  had  done  in  his  time,  the  making  of  an 
accomplished  coquette,  like  the  "  divine  Emily  Breesen," 
his  Avife,  was  beyond  all  doubt  the  most  foolish.  Most 
people  laughed,  and  said :  "  It  is  a  whim  of  the  little 
woman's;  she  will  soon  come  right  again."  Others,  who 
were  less  harmless,  said  :  "There  is  something  behind 
that !  When  a  young  woman  treats  the  wdiole  world, 
not  excluding  her  husband,  en  canaille,  she  does  so  only 
for  the  sake  of  a  man  who  is  himself  her  whole  world." 
But  they  racked  their  brains  in  vain  to  find  out  who  the 
lucky  man  could  be.  Some  guessed  it  was  young  Count 
Grieben,  who  had  formerly  courted  her;  others.  Baron 
Sylow  ;  still  others,  even  Prince  Waldenbcrg;  and  only 
Helen  Grenwitz  knew  that  they  were  all  mistaken,  and 
that  the  object  of  Emily's  love  was  not  to  be-met  jyith 


39°  Through  Night  to  Light. 

in  the  aristocratic  circles  of  tlie  Faubourg  St.  Germain 
of  Grunwald. 

If  Anna  Maria  had  known  what  an  admirable  ally 
she  had  at  that  moment  for  the  execution  of  her  plan 
in  Oswald  Stein,  she  would  probably  have  been  less  dis- 
pleased with  this  excessively  objectionable  and  danger- 
ous young  man.  At  all  events,  it  seemed  as  if  the  rela- 
tions between  Helen  and  the  prince  were  gradually  as- 
suming the  desired  shape.  She  considered  it  at  least  a 
good  sign  that  Helen  expressed  no  desire  to  improve 
the  conversation  in  the  boudoir  next  to  the  card-room 
by  inviting  other  young  men  to  take  part  in  it,  and  that 
she  did  not  frown  contemptuously  when  she  (Anna  Ma- 
ria) recently  ventured  to  say  :  "  That  would  be  a  son- 
in-law  to  my  heart,"  but  quietly  let  the  dark  lashes 
droop  upon  the  gently-blushing  cheeks. 


CHAPTER     XIV. 

ANY  one  who  had  seen  Oswald  Stein  and  Albert 
Timm  sitting  every  night  beliind  their  bottle,  in 
the  city  cellar  of  Grunwald,  both  full  of  jokes 
and  jests  and  merry  tales,  would  have  been  convinced 
that  both  of  them  lived  fully  up  to  the  motto  of  the  il- 
lustrious club  of  "  the  Rats,"  to  Avhich  they  had  the 
honor  to  belong.  They  evidently  enjoyed  life;  and  yet 
this  was  true  only  of  Albert  Timm,  who  had  seriously 
adopted  the  first  and  sole  article  of  faith  of  the  secret 
society :  "  Live  as  thou  wilt  desire  to  have  feasted  when 
thou  diest,"  and  made  it  the  principle  of  his  existence. 
For  Oswald,  on  the  contrary,  this  wild  life  was  but  a 
means  to  stifle  within  him  the  incessant,  painful  longing 
after  a  nobler  model  of  life.  The  memory  of  all  "  that 
had  once  been  his  "  sounded  like  the  notes  of  an  vEolian 
harp  into  the  wild  allegro  of  his  present  life.  His  en- 
thusi':Lstic  youth,  when  rosy  clouds  edged  the  horizon, 
and  behind  them  lay  a  mysterious,  wonderful  future; 


Through  Night  to  Light.  391 

his  days  of  supreme  happiness  at  Grenwitz,  where  the 
old  legend  of  the  paradise  seemed  to  be  repeated  for 
him  ;  his  friendly  intimacy  with  great  and  at  least  good 
men ; — whither  had  all  this  flown  ?  His  youth  was  gone 
forever,  with  all  the  sweet  rosy  dreams  Of  youth.  Of 
the  paradise,  nothing  was  left  but  the  bitter  taste  of  the 
fruit  from  the  tree  of  knowledge :  that  fickleness  of 
heart  and  true  love  can  never  go  hand  in  hand ;  and  his 
friends  ?  .  .  .  .  With  Berger  he  had  paHed,  and  probably 
forever,  at  the  gate  of  the  insane  asylum ;  in  Olden- 
burg he  now  hated  a  rival,  and  the  rich  aristocrat,  the 
favorite  of  fortune,  who  easily  overcame  all  impediments 
that  exhausted  the  full  strength  of  others.  Franz,  who 
had  stood  by  him  like  a  brother  in  the  most  embarrass- 
ing moments  of  his  life,  he  had  treated  with  black 
ingratitude;  and  in  vain  did  he  try  to  excuse  himself  on 
the  ground  that  he  could  not  possibly  have  continued 
to  be  the  friend  of  a  character  which,  in  its  self-poised 
calmness  and  dispassionate  seriousness,  was  so  entirely 
different  from  his  own.  From  Bemperlein,  the  good, 
harmless,  honorable  man,  who  had  met  him  with  the 
offer  of  his  enthusiastic  friendship,  he  was  separated  by 
the  consciousness  that  he  had  mortally  offended  him 
through  her  whom  he  worshipped,  so  that  when  he  met 
him  in  the  street  he  was  apt  to  look  to  the  other  side 
in  his  painful  embarrassment. 

And  what  had  he  gained  in  return  for  so  much  lost 
happiness .?  The  few  rare  moments  which  Oswald  gave 
to  serious  thoughts  on  his  present  situation  were  unsat- 
isfactory enough.  His  position  in  the  college  was 
almost  untenable,  and  yet  he  had  occupied  it  scarcely 
three  months.  The  whole  "  humanity  "  of  the  rector, 
Clemens,  was  not  sufficient  to  cover  with  the  cloak  of 
charity  the  great  and  the  small  vices  which  Oswald 
had  committed  in  his  official  capacity;  and  Mrs.  Clem- 
ens declared  before  the  assembled  dramatic  club,  with 
regard  to  the  same  unfortunate  yovmg  man,  that  "  she 
had  cherished  a  serpent  in  her  bosom."  And  the  worthy 
lady  had  good  reason  to  complain.  She  had  met  Os- 
wald with  a  three-fold  friendship  :  as  the  mother  of  two 
marriageable  daughters,  as  the  wife  of  his  superior,  and 


392  Through  Night  to  Light. 

as  the  president  of  the  dramatic  club,  and  she  had  been 
deeply  offended  in  all  these  capacities.  Oswald  had 
not  only  failed  to  return  the  bashful  attachment  which 
had  begun  to  germinate  in  the  hearts  of  Thurnelda  and 
Fredegunda,  but  he  had  called  these  victims  of  his 
caprice  before  a  numerous  company  "  little  goslings, 
who  wanted  nothing  but  the  plumage  to  be  perfect." 
Ah,  it  had  all  been  didy  and  faithfully  reported  !  He 
had  compared  the*  fair  president,  the  wife  of  his  presid- 
ing officer,  with  an  old  turkey  hen,  Avho  was  so  proud 
of  the  goslings  she  had  hatched  that  her  empty  head 
was  utterly  turned;  and,  finally,  he  had  not  only  ceased 
to  frequent  the  dramatic  club,  after  reading  there  three 
times  amid  general  applause,  but  he  had  passed  over, 
with  flags  flying,  so  to  say,  into  the  hostile  fcamp,  and 
had  become  an  active  member  of  the  lyric  club  which 
had  rapidly  risen  under  Mrs.  Jager's  direction  to  a  splen- 
dor unheard  of  in  the  annals  of  the  dramatic  club.  Cer- 
tainly, if  Oswald  had  felt  no  other  misdeed  but  this  on 
his  conscience,  the  cloud  of  dark  discontent  which  was 
continually  hanging  on  his  brow  would  have  seemed 
natural  enough. 

But  Oswald  had  to  answer  for  more  than  this  faith- 
lessness. His  connection  with  Emily  Cloten,  which  he 
had  so  suddenly  begun,  partly  from  caprice  and  partly 
from  real  attachment,  now  weighed  upon  his  soul  like  a 
heavy  burden,  especially  since  the  reckless,  passionate 
temper  of  the  young  lady  threatened  to  betray  their  se- 
cret at  every  moment.  Emily  no  sooner  felt  sure  of 
Oswald's  affections  than  she  thought  she  could  throw 
down  the  gauntlet  to  the  whole  world.  "  To  love  you, 
and  to  be  loved  by  you,  is  my  sole  wish  and  will — 
everything  else  is  utterly  indifl'crent  to  me,"  she  said; 
and  she  acted  accordingly.  Was  she  to  bridle  her  inor- 
dinate desires,  now  that  her  heart  for  the  first  time  knew 
clearly  what  it  was  about .''  And  she  loved  Oswald  Avitli 
the  whole  passion  of  a  naturally  most  tender,  aff"ection- 
ate  heart,  and  witii  the  wh(;le  recklessness  of  a  woman 
who  had  all  her  life  looked  upon  the  world  only  as  a 
football  of  her  sovereign  pleasure.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Oswald  reminded  her  of  the  duties  of  his  position — of 


Through  Night  to  Light.  393 

the  difficulties  arising^  from  his  narrow  circumstances, 
"  I  cannot  conceive  how  you  can  hesitate  between  the 
weariness  you  feel  in  teaching  your  boys  and  the  delight 
we  feel  in  each  other's  company.  Why  don't  you  give 
vip  the  stupid  college,  and  live  only  for  me  ?  "  "  But,  my 
dear  child,  I  am  already  living  almost  alone  for  you ; 
and  if  matters  continue  so  much  longer,  Rector  Clemens 
Avill  not  only  consent  to  my  leaving  the  college,  but  de- 
sire that  I  should  only  live  for  you."  "Oh,  wouldn't 
that  be  splendid!"  cried  Emily,  clasping  her  hands; 
"  then  we  could  carry  out  my  pet  wish,  and  go  to  Paris, 
where  there  are  no  stupid  people  watching  every  step 
we  take."  Oswald  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  And  what 
are  we  to  live  on  in  Paris  .''  "  Emily  made  a  long  face  ; 
but  the  next  moment  she  was  laughing  again,  and  said  : 
"  Oh,  that  comes  by  itself,  if  we  are  once  there." 

The  desire  to  get  away  from  Grunwald,  where  indeed 
her  position  was  every  moment  liable  to  be  exposed,  had 
of  late  become  a  fixed  idea  with  Emily,  and  she  returned 
constantly  to  the  danger  they  were  running.  She  wanted 
to  enjoy  Oswald's  love  without  interruption,  and  not  to 
pay  for  every  half-hour  spent  stealthily  in  his  company 
with  long  days  of  care  and  anxiety.  So  far  they  had 
met  either  in  Primula's  boudoir,  on  in  Ferry'town  at 
the  house  of  Emily's  old  nurse,  Mrs.  Lemberg,  which 
they  could  easily  reach  as  long  as  the  ice  held  that  cov- 
ered the  bay  between  the  island  and  the  continent. 
Primula  had  been  initiated  into  the  secret  after  Emily's 
recklessness  had  once  led  to  a  most  ridiculous  scene  of 
discovery,  and  it  was  characteristic  that  the  author  of 
the  "  Cornflowers  "  had  soon  overcome  her  first  feeling 
of  jealousy,  and  henceforth  looked  upon  this  *'  union  of 
loving  souls  "  as  extremely  romantic,  and  found  that  the 
lovers  in  their  helplessness,  threatened  by  an  unloving 
world,  were  highly  pitiable,  and  she  herself,  as  the  pro- 
tector of  such  an  "  heroic  passion,"  worthy  of  all  admi- 
ration !  She  dreamt  herself  more  and  more  into  the  part 
she  was  playing,  and  the  subscribers  to  the  "  Daffodils," 
for  whose  "  album  "  Primula  Veris  was  now  writing  her 
poems,  were  forced  to  read  long  pages  about  "  the 
twisted  thread  of  love  ;  the  silent,  secret  doings  of  secret 
17* 


394  Through  Night  to  Light. 

love,  shunning  the  light  of  day;  "  and  especially  of  the 
'•  chaste  guardian  of  the  faithful  love."  She  even  warned 
her  readers  not  to  imagine  that  the  latter  was  "  the 
moon — the  pale  virgin,"  but  hinted  very  explicitly  at  the 
meaning. 

Primula  also  favored  Emily's  plan.  "  Flee,  my  chil- 
dren," she  said,  "  from  this  rude  Cimmerian  sky  to  milder 
skies,  away  from  these  wild  Cyclopes  and  soulless  ich- 
thyophagi !  Amid  snow  and  ice  even  the  blue  cyane 
cannot  thrive,  much  less  the  red  rose  of  wild  love." 

Oswald  was  not  so  blinded  that  he  should  not  have 
seen  the  insanity  of  the  project,  but  partly  he  was 
pleased  with  the  adventurous  nature  of  the  plan,  and 
partly  he  was  dazzled  by  the  hope  of  thus  ridding  him- 
self at  one  blow  of  all  the  troubles  that  beset  him,  no 
matter  what  the  blow  might  cost.  Finally,  his  attach- 
ment for  Emily  had  grown  from  a  mere  w'him  into  a 
full  passion,  which  did  not  exactly  warm  his  heart  but 
influenced  his  imagination,  and  which  he  did  not  care 
to  combat  very  earnestly  because  it  afforded  him  a  kind 
of  excuse  for  his  fickleness.  He  began  to  reflect  seri- 
ously on  the  plan  for  an  elopement,  especially  as  the 
little  remnant  of  his  fortune  was  rapidly  disappearing, 
owing  to  the  life  he  was  now  leading,  and  he  saw,  there- 
fore, that  he  would  have  to  do  quickly  whatever  was  to 
be  done. 

Oswald  would  have  liked  to  consult  his  friend  Albert 
on  this  embarrassing  subject,  but  he  no  longer  ventured 
to  speak  to  him  about  Emily.  At  first  he  had  now  and 
then  dropped  a  word  about  his  last  romance,  and  Albert 
was  one  of  those  clever  men  who  need  be  told  only  half 
a  word  to  be  at  home  in  the  most  complicated  affiair. 
He  had  never  troubled  Oswald  with  curious  questions, 
and  yet  knew  how  to  draw  from  him  very  quickly  nearly 
all  he  desired  to  hear.  He  knew  that  Oswald  had  se- 
cret meetings  at  Mrs.  Jager's  house,  and  across  in  Fer- 
rytown ;  he  knew  who  the  young,  thoughtless  woman 
was,  and  he  was  yet  by  no  means  misled  when  Oswald 
suddenly  ceased  speaking  of  Emily.  He  only  con- 
cluded that  matters  had  entered  that  stage  where  silence 
becomes  a  duty. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  395 

Timm  had  not  exactly  desired  that  matters  should  go 
quite  so  far.  Timm  did  not  object  to  Oswald's  reviving 
his  taste  for  an  aristocratic  mode  of  life  by  an  affair 
with  a  great  lady,  and  to  his  becoming  thus  more  and 
more  anxious  for  larger  means;  but  he  did  not  desire 
that  this  should  turn  into  a  serious  attachment,  which 
might  lead  no  one  could  tell  where,  and  which,  above 
all,  threatened  to  become  fatal  to  Oswald's  romantic 
passion  for  Helen.  For  it  was  upon  this  love  that  Timm 
had  based  his  whole  plan.  If  Oswald  could  not  be  in- 
duced by  any  other  means  to  enter  into  a  lawsuit  with 
the  Grenwitz  family  for  the  legacy,  then  the  hope  to 
wun  Helen  was  to  prevail  upon  him.  Thus  it  was  why 
Helen  must  not  be  lost  for  Oswald,  nor  Oswald  for 
Helen.  And  even  this  might  now  happen.  Albert, 
whose  eyes  were  everywhere,  had  not  failed  to  learn 
that  Prince  Waldenberg  was  daily  at  the  Grenwitz  man- 
sion ;  he  had  discovered,  besides,  other  suspicious  evi- 
dences of  the  favorable  progress  of  the  new  relations 
between  Helen  and  the  prince ;  as,  for  instance,  magni- 
ficent bouquets  ordered  at  the  first  florist's  establishment 
by  the  prince,  which  were  "  to  be  sent  that  night  to 
Grenwitz  House."  Since  the  snow  was  firm,  and  the 
Jeufiesse  dorkewzs  devising  sleighing  parties  in  all  possi- 
ble directions  of  the  compass,  he  had,  moreover,  repeat- 
edly seen  Helen  by  the  side  of  the  prince  in  a  magnifi- 
cent sleigh,  Avhose  costly  coverings,  with  the  three  horses 
harnessed  abreast  after  Russian  fashion,  pointed  it  out 
as  the  property  of  his  highness.  He  had  as  frequently 
warned  Oswald  against  so  dangerous  a  rival,  but  the 
latter  had  only  given  evasive  answers.  This  state  of 
things  displeased  Albert  altogether,  and  he  considered 
how  he  might,  to  use  his  own  words, "  get  the  cart  into 
a  new  track." 

He  had  not  reappeared  for  some  time  at  Grenwitz 
House.  Felix  had  sent  him,  before  leaving,  four  hun- 
dred dollars  in  advance  for  the  m(5nth  of  November, 
taking  it  from  his  travelling  money,  and  requesting  him 
at  the  same  time  to  address  himself  hereafter,  "  in  all 
business  matters,"  directly  to  his  aunt,  the  baroness. 
Albert  had  as  yet  not  availed  himself  of  this  permission, 


396  Through  Night  to  Light. 

as  it  was  difficult  even  for  him  to  spend  four  hundred 
dollars  a  month  in  the  modest  town  of  Grunwald ;  and 
he  had,  besides,  been  specially  successful  at  faro  of  late. 
Nevertheless,  he  proposed  to  pay  his  visit  very  soon,  and 
to  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity  for  a  better  examina- 
tion of  the  whole  situation. 

It  happened  in  these  same  days  that  Albert  received 
one  evening,  just  as  he  was  going  out,  a  letter  by  the 
town  mail,  which  put  him  into  such  bad  humor  that  he 
gave  v;p  his  original  intention  to  attend  an  extraordin- 
ary meeting  of  "  the  Rats "  in  the  city  cellar,  and 
instead,  paid  a  visit  to  his  landlord — the  sexton,  Toby 
Goodheart — the  man  who  had  filled  all  the  little  crooked 
streets  and  lanes  around  St.  Bridget's  with  the  odor  of 
his  holy  manner  of  life. 

Mr.  Toby  Goodheart  was  a  bachelor,  because  he  was 
too  ugly  to  obtain  a  wife ;  as  he  said  himself,  because 
his  heaven-aspiring  mind  did  not  condescend  to  such 
worldly  thoughts  as  his  admirers  insisted  upon  believ- 
ing. But  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  could  be  the 
true  reason,  for  Mr.  Toby  was  not  ugly,  but  a  very 
good-looking  man  of  some  forty  years,  whose  high  fore- 
head, bald  at  the  temples,  gave  him  a  most  god-fearing 
expression.  Nor  was  Mr.  Toby  really  so  very  god- 
fearing, unless  his  piety  consisted  in  the  solemn  manner 
with  which  he  stepped,  Sunday  after  Sunday  and  year 
after  year,  dressed  in  his  shiny-black  dress-coat,  black 
trousers,  and  a  long  flowing  black  gown  fastened  to  the 
collar,  through  the  church,  pushing  his  velvet  bag  by 
means  of  a  long  pole  under  the  noses  of  the  "devout 
listeners."  That  Mr.  Toby  was  in  reality  a  son  of 
Belial  was  known  to  but  very  few  men  in  Grunwald, 
where  the  excellent  man  had  now  been  living  for 
twenty  years — perhaps  only  to  one  single  man,  and  that 
was  the  occupant  of  the  two  best  rooms  in  the  sexton's 
official  dwelling:   Mr.  Albert  Timm,  surveyor. 

Mr.  Toby  had  dr(5pped  his  mask  in  an  evil  hour,  Avhen 
the  spirit  of  his  much-beloved  grog  was  stronger  in  him 
than  the  spirit  of  lies,  and  shown  his  true  face  to  Mr. 
Timm,  the  "famous  fellow."  Mr.  Toby  Goodheart  and 
Mr.  Albert  Timm  had  since  that  hour  formed  the  closest 


Through  Night  to  Light.  397 

intimacy,  a  friendship  -which  was  cemented  and  secured 
in  its  firmness  and  duration  by  a  remarkable  community 
of  fondness  for  women,  wine,  and  dice,  and  the  common 
possession  of  delicate  secrets. 

Albert  Timm  entered  the  little  room  behind  the  par- 
lor, where  his  landlord  used  to  sit,  with  his  hat  on  his 
head,  and  found  the  excellent  man  engaged  in  the 
pleasant  occupation  of  preparing  a  glass  of  his  favorite 
beverage. 

"You  may  make  one  for  me  too,"  said  Albert,  throw- 
ing his  hat  upon  a  chair  and  himself  into  the  corner  of 
the  well-padded  sofa. 

"  As  heretofore,  Albert  mine .''  "  asked  the  obliging 
landlord,  taking  another  tumbler  and  spoon  from  the 
cupboard  and  placing  it  on  the  table  by  the  side  of  the 
smoking  tea-kettle. 

"  Rather  a  little  more  than  less,"  was  the  mysterious 
reply. 

While  Mr.  Toby  was  brewing  the  hot  drink  accord- 
ing to  this  prescription,  Albert  was  gazing  at  the  tips  of 
his  boots. 

"  You  are  not  in  good  humor  to-night,  Albert  mine  !  " 
said  Toby,  looking  up  from  his  occupation. 

"  It  would  be  a  lie  to  say  the  contrary  !  " 

"  What's  the  matter .''     Has  little  Louisa  caught  you  1  " 

"  Little  Louisa  may  be " 

"  Or  have  they  sent  you  a  little  note,  which  you  had 
conveniently  forgotten  ?  " 

"Something  of  the  kind!  " 

"Well,  what  is  it.-*"  asked  Toby,  placing  the  grog 
he  had  mixed  for  Albert  upon  the  table  and  stirring 
it  busily.  "There,  take  a  mouthful,  and  then  speak 
out !  " 

Albert  took  the  tumbler,  tasted,  to  see  if  it  was  neither 
too  hot  nor  too  cold,  neither  too  sweet  nor  too  bitter, 
neither  too  strong  nor  too  weak,  and  when  he  had  gained 
the  conviction  that  it  came  fully  up  to  his  standard,  he 
emptied  it  at  one  draught  more  than  half. 

"  It  goes  down  easily  to-night,"  said  Toby,  good  na- 
turedly.     "  Try  it  again." 

"You  recollect  that    I   commenced   last    summer   at 


398  Through  Night  to  Light. 

Grenwitz  a  foolish  sort  of  a  thing  with  a  little  black-eyed 
witch  of  a  French  girl  ?  "  continued  Timm. 

"  I  know,"  said  Toby,  smiling  cunningly ;  "  I  know 
what's  the  matter  now." 

"  No,  you  don't.  The  little  thing  was  as  shy  as  a  wild- 
duck.  In  other  respects,  to  be  sure,  she  was  as  stupid, 
too,  for  you  know  she  lent  me,  poor  as  I  was,  three  hun- 
dred dollars,  which  she  had  put  into  the  savings  bank." 

"That  was  noble  in  her." 

"  But  now  she  wants  them  back." 

"  Did  you  give  her  a  note  1  " 

"  No  !  " 

"  Why,  then,  you  have  only  to  say  that  you  know  noth- 
ing about  it,  and  it's  all  right.     Selah  !  " 

"  That  is  not  so  easy.  She  has  great  friends,  with 
whom  I  should  not  like  to  have  trouble." 

"Why  not.?  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  Marguerite  is  no  longer  with 
the  Grenwitz  people  .''  " 

"  Not  a  word.     Where  is  she.'*  " 

"  At  Privy  Councillor  Rohan's." 

"  How  did  she  get  there  .''  " 

"  I  believe  through  Bemperlein,  the  candidate  for  the 
university,  forsooth  ;  the  hypocrite  who,  I  am  told,  is  now 
the  privy  councillor's  right  hand,  and  as  others  say  en- 
gaged to  my  pet  of  other  days." 

"  Much  good  may  it  do  him  !  "  said  Toby.  "  But  who 
has  dunned  you .-'  " 

"  The  old  privy  councillor  himself;  look  !  " — and  here 
Albert  drew  from  his  pocket  the  letter  he  had  received 
half  an  hour  ago.  "  The  old  sinner  writes,  'Dear  sir! 
As  Miss  Marguerite,  who  now  does  me  the  honor,'  etc., 
etc., '  tells  me,'  etc.  '  As  the  relations  which  formerly  may 
have  existed  between  yourself  and  the  young  lady  are 
now  entirely  and  forever  broken  off — you  know  best 
why — you  will  tinderstand  that  you  cannot,  as  a  man 
of  honor,  keep  a  moment  longer  a  sum  of  money  which 
was  placed  at  your  disposal  under  very  different  cir- 
cumstances. Finally,  I  beg  leave  to  say  that  the  young 
lady  feels  a  very  natural  inclination  to  leave  the  matter 
untouched,  but  that  I  learnt  accidentally  from  members 


Through  Night  to  Light.  399 

of  the  Grenwitz  family  that  Miss  Martin  liad  been  ena- 
bled to  save  a  little  capital  while  staying  with  that 
family,  and  that  this  led  me  to  question  the  young  lady 
on  the  subject,  and  to  insist  vipon  being  told,'  etc.  '  Of 
course,  I  must  consider  it  my  duty,'  etc.,  etc.  Well,  what 
do  you  say  of  that .''  "  asked  Albert,  crushing  the  letter 
and  stuffing  it  angrily  into  his  pocket. 

"  That  is  a  bad  thing,"  replied  the  honorable  Toby, 
scratching  his  grizzly  head.  "  The  privy  councillor  is 
a  man  of  high  standing  in  the  town,  especially  since  he 
has  paid  his  debts — heaven  knows  how  ;  so  that  you  can- 
not enter  the  lists  against  him.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
have  to  pay." 

"  So  am  I,"  replied  Albert.  "  That  cursed  gossip,  the 
baroness  !  It  is  malice  in  her ;  but  she  shall  pay  for  it. 
I'll  put  the  thumbscrews  on  her,  till " 

Albert  paused,  and  poured  the  rest  of  the  drink  down 
his  throat. 

"  Look  here,  Albert  mine,"  said  Toby;  "how  are  you 
standing  with  the  baroness  .''  I  hope,  Albert  mine,  my 
boy,  you  have  got  all  the  lots  of  money  which  you  have 
made  such  an  unusual  show  of,  of  late,  in  an  honest  way .?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  }  " 

"  Well,  the  baroness  is  not  so  bad  yet,  and " 

"  Nonsense.     That  old  vixen  !     I  am  not  so  low  yet." 

"  Then  tell  me ;  how  did  you  get  the  money.''  " 

"  First  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  your  mysterious 
allusions  to  the  power  you  have  over  the  Grenwitz 
family,  and  let  me  hear  it  all." 

"  Will  you  then  tell  me  where  the  money  comes 
from  .''  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well !  But  let  us  first  brew  another  tumbler,  and 
then  we  can  begin  our  stories.  But  look  here  ;  honor 
bright,  Albert  mine  ;  honor  bright,  and  no  prattling!  " 

"  One  crow  does  not  peck  at  another!  "  said  Albert. 

Mr.  Toby  nodded  smilingly  his  venerable  head,  mixed 
the  grog  with  artistic  care,  unbuttoned  his  black  satin 
waistcoat,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  said, 

"  I  have  not  always  lived  in  Grunwald ;  and  I  have 
not  always  been  sexton  at  St.  Bridget's." 


40O  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  I  know  !  The  capital  has  the  undisputed  honor  to 
call  you  her  own ;  and  whose  sexton  you  were  before 
you  became  St.  Bridget's  own  sexton,  the  gentleman  in 
black  will  probably  know  best." 

Toby  Goodheart  seemed  to  take  this  as  a  high  com- 
pliment. He  smiled  contentedly,  and  sipped  his  grog 
with  evident  delight. 

"  Don't  be  coarse,  Albert  mine,  or  I  cannot  go  on," 
he  said.  "  My  father  was  a  servant ;  and  I  was,  from 
tender  infancy,  intended  for  the  same  profession.  You 
may  judge  what  remarkable  talents  I  had  for  my  voca- 
tion, when  I  tell  you  that  I  had  had  twenty  masters 
before  I  was  twenty  years  old.  About  this  time  it  oc- 
curred to  me  how  much  more  pleasant  it  would  be  to 
be  my  own  master ;  and  as  I  had  laid  by  a  considerable 
little  sum  during  the  time  of  my  service," — here  the 
honorable  Toby  smiled  with  his  left  eye  and  the  left 
corner  of  his  mouth — "  I  had  capital  enough  to  open  a 
house  of  entertainment." 

"  Nice  entertainment,  I  dare  say,  you  gave,"  said  Al- 
bert. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !"  replied  Toby,  adding  another  lump  of 
sugar  to  his  grog;  "at  least  the  fair  sex  was  abundantly 
represented  in  my  nice  little  business.  I  made  it  a 
principle  to  have  only  female  waiters,  and  so  the  "  Cafe 
Goodheart  "  was  well  frequented.  I  had  at  least  six  or 
eight  young  ladies  to  do  the  honors  of  my  house." 

Albert  Timm  seemed  to  listen  to  these  statistics  with 
much  delight.  He  leaned  back  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa 
and  broke  out  into  a  loud  laugh,  while  the  honorable 
Toby  again  only  smiled — but  this  time,  for  the  sake  of 
change,  with  the  right  eye  and  the  right  corner  of  the 
mouth. 

"Hush,  hush,  Albert  mine!"  he  said;  "the  people 
might  hear  us  in  the  street.  How  can  a  prudent  youth 
like  yourself  ever  laugh  aloud  .''  I  have  never  in  all 
my  life  done  more  than  smile,  and  I  have  succeeded 
pretty  well.  But  never  mind  that.  The  young  ladies 
were,  of  course,  always  very  pretty ;  and  I  can  say  that, 
of  all  my  colleagues,  I  managed  to  get  the  prettiest. 
But  I  must  also  confess  that  this  was  not  so  much  due 


Through  Night  to  Light.  401 

to  my  own  good  taste  as  to  the  discrimination  and  clev- 
erness of  a  lady  with  whom  I  had  once  upon  a  time 
stood  in  tender  relations,  when  we  were  both  in  service, 
and  who  was  still  a  friend  and  a  partner  in  business. 
This  lady,  called  Rose  Pape,  was  in  her  way  a  very  re- 
markable woman,  with  a  marvellous  talent  for  business." 

"  I  can  imagine  what  kind  of  business  that  was,"  said 
Albert. 

"  You  can  imagine  no  such  thing,  young  man,"  re- 
plied Toby.  "  Mrs.  Rose  Pape  was  an  excellent  lady, 
whose  society  was  not  only  sought  after  by  the  most 
respectable  ladies,  but  also  paid  for  with  large  sums  of 
money,  and  whose  night-bell  was  well  known  in  the 
whole  thickly-settled  neighborhood  in  which  she  lived. 
But  Mrs.  Rose  Pape  took  not  only  a  warm  interest  in 
young  Avives,  but  very  consistently,  also,  in  those  who 
might  become  such  ;  and  thus  she  had  as  extensive  an  ac- 
quaintance among  the  pretty  chambermaids  and  seam- 
stresses as  among  the  wives  of  high  officials  and  rich 
merchants. 

"  One  fine  day,  now,  Mrs.  Rose  came  to  see  me,  and 
told  me  that  an  immensely  rich  baron  of  her  acquaint- 
ance had  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  a  pretty  girl, 
and  had  charged  her.  Rose,  to  help  him,  without  regard 
to  expense.  She  had  already  formed  a  plan,  but  she  was 
in  need  of  a  valet  of  special  abilities  in  order  to  carry 
out  her  superb  conception.  She  added  that  there  was  a 
lot  of  money  to  be  made  in  the  business,  and  asked  me 
to  join  her. 

"  It  so  happened  that  just  at  that  time  the  police  had 
found  occasion  to  interfere  with  the  management  of  my 
cafe,  and  I  was  afraid  of  unpleasant  consequences  ;  I 
seized,  therefore,  with  eagerness  the  opportunity  of  leav- 
ing the  capital  for  a  time  in  such  good  company.  Twenty- 
four  hours  later  I  was  on  my  way,  accompanying  the 
young  lady  in  question,  and  riding  in  the  comfortable 
carriage  of  my  new  master,  who  was  going  to — well, 
guess,  Albert  mine,  where  he  was  going.?  " 

"  How  can  I  know  .''  But  you  were  surely  not  going 
to  give  me  the  complete  history  of  your  life  .''  I  thought 
you  were  going  to  tell  me  how  you  got  to  Grenwitz," 


402  Through  Night  to  Light. 

said  Albert,  who  had  been  busy  with  his  own  affairs,  and 
had  not  listened  very  attentively. 

"  Why,  you  hear,  we  are  on  the  way  to  Grenwitz," 
said  Toby,  glancing  at  Albert  from  the  corner  of  his  left 
eye  across  the  rim  of  his  tumbler  ;  "  for  my  new  master 
was  Baron  Grenwitz,  and  the  end  of  our  journey  was 
Castle  Grenwitz,  where  you  were  last  summer." 

An  Indian,  who  on  his  pursuit  has  discovered  his 
enemy's  track  in  the  grass  of  the  prairie,  cannot  exert 
himself  more  powerfully,  with  all  his  senses,  than  Albert 
did  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  last  words.  He  had  in- 
stantly recognized  in  Toby  Goodheart  the  valet  who  had 
played  so  ambiguous  a  part  in  the  story  of  Mother 
Glaus ;  but  he  did  not  betray  by  a  word  or  gesture  the 
importance  of  this  discovery,  but  asked,  with  well- 
feigned  indifference, 

"  The  old  baron  .?  Upon  my  word  !  I  should  not  have 
expected  such  things  from  the  old  boy !  " 

"  Not  the  present  baron,  but  his  cousin,  of  the  older 
line — Baron  Harald ;  or  Wild  Harald,  as  he  is  still  called 
by  those  who  have  known  him.  I  tell  you,  Albert  mine, 
it  was  a  merry  life  we  were  leading  at  Castle  Grenwitz 
in  the  year  of  the  Lord  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty- 
two.  Wine  and  women  in  abundance !  and  with  all  that 
we  played  comedy — well,  it  was  equal  to  the  best  thing 
I  have  ever  seen  on  the  stage.  Just  imagine :  my  good 
friend.  Rose " 

"  She  was  there,  too  .-*  " 

"  Certainly  !  Did  I  not  tell  you  the  baron  had  en- 
gaged her  to  play  his  great-aunt .''  " 

"  His  what.''  " 

Toby  smiled — this  time  Avith  both  eyes  and  both  cor- 
ners of  the  mouth. 

"  She  played  the  great-aunt  of  the  baron,  with  wig 
and  crutch :  because  that  foolish  thing,  Marie — Marie 
Montbert  was  the  name  of  the  little  monkey  ;  and  as 
pretty  a  girl  she  was  as  I  have  ever  seen  with  these  eyes 
of  mine — I  have  never  seen  the  like  of  her.  What  was  I 
going  to  say  1  Yes  !  Marie  had  made  a  conditio  sine  (jiia 
non,  as  we  scholars  say,  that  an  old  lady  of  the  baron's 
family  should  be  at  the  castle,  if  she  was  to  come  there. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  403 

Well,  now  we  had  an  elderly  lady,  a  famous  elderly  lady, 
eh!  Albert  mine,  eh?"  and  the  honorable  Toby  tit- 
tered, and  poked  Albert  most  cordially  in  the  side. 

"Well,  and  how  did  the  matter  end?  "  asked  Albert, 
who  did  not  want  to  hear  the  part  of  the  story  which  he 
knew. 

"  Why,  1  did  not  see  it  end ;  for  we,  Rose  and  I,  ran 
away  sometime  before.  To  tell  the  truth,  we  were  afraid 
the  whole  story  might  upset ;  for  Marie  had  many 
friends  in  the  city,  who  might  make  a  great  noise  about 
it,  and  get  us  all,  especially  Rose  and  myself,  into  serious 
trouble.  So  Ave  slipped  off  one  fine  morning,  or  rather 
one  fine  night,  without  taking  leave,  but  requesting 
various  things  which  happened  to  fall  into  our  hands 
to  keep  us  company  in  going  away  with  us.  Here  in 
Grun  wald  we  parted,  or  rather  we  were  separated.  For  I 
was  taken  so  sick — probably  in  consequence  of  the  high 
living  we  had  enjoyed  at  Grenwitz — that  I  could  not  go 
on,  and  had  to  be  carried  to  the  hospital.  What  I  then 
thought  was  a  great  misfortune,  turned  out  afterwards  to 
be  the  most  fortunate  thing ;  for  the  late  Dean  Dark- 
ling, the  father  of  Mrs.  Professor  Jager,  who  was  then 
chaplain  to  the  hospital,  fell  in  love  Avith  my  modest 
smiles,  and  insisted,  as  soon  as  I  was  well  again,  upon 
my  entering  his  service.  Well  !  from  the  servant  of  a 
minister  to  the  sexton  of  his  church,  it  is  but  a  step !  " 
and  Mr.  Toby  sipped  comfortably  the  remainder  of  his 
grog. 

"  And  did  you  ever  hear  anything  more  of  your  friend 
Mrs.  Rose  ?  " 

"  She  is  living  at  the  capital,  and  carries  on  her  busi- 
ness Avith  double  entry,  and  more  profitably  than  eA'er. 
If  you  ever  go  up  to  tOAvn,  Albert  mine,  you  must  not 
forget  to  call  on  her.  She  lives  at  the  corner  of  Ger- 
trude and  Rose  streets,  third  story." 

"  I  am  going  to  take  that  doAvn  at  once,"  said  Albert, 
entering  the  address  in  liis  note-book.  "But  Avhat  has 
become  of  Marie,  or  Avhatever  the  stupid  thing's  name 
was  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  is  a  curious  story.  Shortly  after  Ave  had 
left,  there  really  did  come  one  of  her  friends,  a  Mr, 


404  Through  Night  to  Light. 

d'Estein,  and  stole  her  away  from  the  baron,  who  was  so 
furious  at  the  whole  story  that  he  died  soon  after  from 
sheer  anger.  But  the  most  curious  part  of  the  whole 
is  this :  Just  imagine  !  Rose  has  hardly  taken  up  her 
business  again,  when  the  bell  wakes  her  one  fine  night, 
and  who  do  you  think  wants  her?  The  same  Mr.  d'Es- 
tein !  and  for  whom.''  for  the  same  Marie,  who  is  in  need 
of  a  midwife !" 

"  Impossible!"  cried  Albert,  forgetting  for  a  moment 
his  assumed  indifference. 

"  As  I  tell  you.  Rose  wrote  to  me  at  once,  and  I 
could  have  killed  myself  laughing  at  the  fun  of  the 
thing.  First,  she  is  great  aunt;  and  then — ha!  ha!  ha!  " 
Toby  was  so  very  much  amused  at  the  thing  that  he 
could  not  help  laughing  aloud,  contrary  to  all  his  prin- 
ciples. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  chimed  in  Albert.  "  Very  good  !  Ha, 
ha,  ha  !  Perhaps  Mrs.  Rose  knows  also  what  became  of 
the  child .?  " 

"  Maybe,"  replied  Toby  ;  "  but  I  rather  think  she  does 
not  want  to  know  anything  about  it.  Otherwise  she 
would  no  doubt  have  presented  herself  at  that  time 
when  Baron  Harald  offered  in  all  the  newspapers  a 
very  liberal  reward  for  any  information  concerning 
Marie's  present  residence,  etc.  I  think  she  was  afraid 
of  the  consequences,  and  has  done  as  I  have  done — kept 
her  counsel .  for  twenty  odd  years,  till  the  grass  has 
grown  over  the  whole  affair.  Well,  but  now,  Albert 
mine,  it  is  your  turn  to  tell  me  how  you  have  managed 
to  be  such  a  rich  man  of  late.'  " 

"  Upon  my  word  !  I  just  remember  I  must  attend  the 
meeting  of  the  Rats  to-night !  "  cried  Albert,  starting 
up.  "Why,  this  is  foundation-day!  Good-by,  Toby; 
another  time.     I  cannot  stay,  upon  my  word  !  " 

And  Albert  put  on  liis  hat  and  hurried  off,  paying  no 
attention  to  tlie  grumbling  of  his  friend  and  hospitable 
landlord,  the  honorable  Toby  Goodheart,  who  at  once 
went  to  work  drowning  his  anger  in  his  favorite  bever- 
age— a  plan  in  which  he  succeeded  so  well  that  the 
watchman,  Avho  was  sent  about  midnight  to  fetch  the 
key  of  the  vestry,  had  to  knock  half  an  hour  before  Mr. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  405 

Toby  could  disentangle  himself  from  between  the  legs 
of  the  table,  under  which  he  had  fallen  after  his  sixth 
tumbler.  * 


Book     Third. 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  ^  I  *^HE  season  "  had  not  been  as  brilliant  in  Grunwald 
X  for  many  a  year  as  it  was  this  winter.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  people  were  already  feeling  the  first 
breath  of  coming  spring,  and  as  if  they  could  not  make 
enough  of  the  little  time  that  was  still  remaining.  Party 
followed  party,  and  Heaven  alone  could  tell  how  the  old 
gentlemen  and  ladies  could  stand  the  incessant  whist  and 
the  young  people  the  incessant  dancing ;  and  how  all  of 
them  could  find  pleasure  in  meeting  night  after  night  pre- 
cisely the  same  company,  for  the  circle  which  was  thus 
kept  in  constant  commotion  was  quite  limited,  and  con- 
sisted of  perhaps  twenty  or  twenty-five  families,  includ- 
ing the  highest  military  and  civil  officials,  the  family  of  the 
commandant  of  the  fortress,  Grunwald,  his  excellency 
von  Bostelmann,and  that  of  the  president  of  the  province, 
von  Fitzewitz,  etc.  It  may  have  been  that  the  small- 
ness  of  the  circle  favored  to  a  certain  extent  the  stupid 
delight  with  which  these  select  fashionables  were  con- 
tinually turning  around  themselves,  although  everybody 
knew  everything  about  everybody  else,  or  thought  at 
least  he  knew  or  wanted  to  know  it,  so  that  there  was 
never  a  lack  of  topics  for  gossip. 

Each  week  had  a  special  topic  of  its  own,  however, 
which  was  discussed  with  much  animation.  During  the 
last  but  one,  the  strange  conduct  of  Emily  Cloten  had  fur- 
nished the  favorite  subject.  There  had,  of  course,  been 
two  parties — one  in  favor  of  the  young  lady,  and  another 


4o6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

in  favor  of  her  husband.  The  former  claimed  that 
Emily  had  become  crazy  because  of  Arthur's  faithless- 
ness; the  latter  insisted  upon  it  that,  on  the  contrary, 
Arthur  had  been  made  crazy  by  his  wife's  faithlessness, 
and  was,  in  this  state  of  mind,  seeking  consolation  in 
the  arms  of  his  former  favorite,  Hortense  Barnewitz. 
Emily's  friends  seemed  to  be  sure  of  success,  for  the  young 
lady — was  it  from  caprice,  or  from  better  reasons  ? — re- 
appeared suddenly  in  society,  and  began  to  play  her  for- 
mer part  as  a  reckless  coquette  more  zealously  than 
ever,  utterly  ignoring  all  that  had  occurred  in  the  mean- 
time. 

Thus  the  spies,  cheated  out  of  this  scandal,  as  it  seemed, 
were  compelled  to  turn  their  sharp  eyes  during  the 
present  week  upon  the  relations  between  Prince  Wal- 
denberg  and  Helen  Grenwitz,  which  had  been  already 
canvassed  by  everybody,  and  which  yet,  far  from  being 
exhausted,  had  only  become  more  and  more  interesting, 
for  it  Avas  believed  that  during  the  last  few  days  these 
relations  had  assumed  a  definite  form. 

The  spies  had  seen  correctly.  Since  yesterday  Helen 
was  engaged  to  His  Highness,  Prince  Raimund  Walden- 
berg,  Count  of  Malikowsky,  hereditary  Lord  of  Letbus. 

For  the  present  only  in  secret,  since  much  time  was 
required  before  all  the  preliminaries  of  an  alliance  be- 
tween the  princely  family  of  Waldenberg  and  the  most 
noble  family  of  Grenwitz  could  be  satisfactorily  settled. 
Besides,  the  public  announcement  of  the  engagement 
was  to  take  place  in  the  capital,  to  which  the  prince  Avas 
to  return  soon  after  New  Year  in  order  to  join  his  regi- 
ment again,  and  where  the  prince's  parents  had  prom- 
ised to  meet  him,  the  mother  from  St.  Petersburg,  the 
father  from  Paris. 

The  baroness  had,  then,  attained  the  goal  of  her  wishes, 
and  her  exulting  joy  at  lier  success  amply  compensated 
her  for  all  the  humiliations  and  disappointments,  for  all 
the  sleepless  nights,  full  of  care  and  anxiety,  of  the  past 
months.  She  carried  her  head  as  high  as  ever.  Did  she 
not  owe  all  the  successes  she  had  ever  had  in  life  to  her- 
self alone,  and  so  also  this  last  one.''  Did  she  not  owe  it 
solely  to  lier  own  prudence,  moderation,  and  discretion, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  407 

that  she,  the  simple  nobleman's  daughter,  who  had  no 
fortune  whatever,  had  become  Baroness  Grenwitz  and 
mother-in-law  of  Prince  Waldenberg  ?  Had  she  not  had 
to  struggle  through  all  her  life,  not  only  with  circum- 
stances, but  also  with  those  who  stood  nearest  to  her ; 
with  her  weak  husband,  who  had  no  energy  and  no 
sense  for  great  comprehensive  plans,  and  with  her 
haughty,  self-willed  daughter  ?  Had  she  not  been  forced 
to  think  and  care  for  them  all ;  to  compel  them  almost 
to  accept  their  good  fortune?  Truly,  if  these  people 
were  not  grateful  for  their  happiness,  which  they  owed 
to  her  alone — well,  it  was  not  her  fault ! 

Were  they  grateful?  Any  one  but  the  baroness 
would  have  doubted  it.  The  happy  ones  showed  little 
of  joy  and  elation  in  their  features ;  on  the  contrary, 
since  the  decisive  word  had  been  spoken,  a  veil  of  em- 
barrassment, if  not  of  annoyance,  seemed  to  have  fallen 
upon  their  faces.  The  prince's  dark  countenance  looked 
a  shade  darker,  and  his  black  eyes  rested  often  with  a 
strange,  inexplicable  meaning  upon  the  fair,  haughty 
features  of  his  betrothed,  who  walked  about  in  startling 
silence,  very  pale,  and  looking  much  more  like  a  marble 
bride  than  like  a  happy  girl.  Still,  those  who  chose 
need  not  have  looked  far  for  an  explanation.  The  deep 
melancholy  seemed  to  be  justified  by  anxiety  for  the 
father,  who  had  long  been  an  invalid,  and  who  had  sud- 
denly been  taken  seriously  ill. 

In  the  night  which  followed  the  day  of  the  betrothal 
the  old  gentleman  had  had  an  attack  of  his  old  complaint, 
the  gout,  and  the  physicians  who  were  called  in  de- 
clared at  once  that,  this  time,  they  could  not  answer  for 
the  result.  From  that  moment  Helen  had  been  chained 
to  her  father's  sick-bed,  especially  as  the  latter  would 
allow  no  one  else  to  be  near  him,  to  hand  him  his  medi- 
cine and  to  smooth  his  pillow. 

The  early  winter  evening  had  come  already.  The 
streets  were  covered  with  deep  snow  and  perfectly  si- 
lent ;  only  now  and  then  the  jingling  of  bells  interrupted 
the  stillness.  No  one  happened  to  be  near  the  patient 
but  Helen.  She  was  sitting  near  the  bed,  holding  lier 
father's  withered  hand,  trembling  with  feverish  excite- 


4o8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

ment,  in  her  own  soft  hands,  and  trying,  as  well  as  she 
could,  to  soothe  the  increasing  restlessness  of  the  patient. 

"  Where  is  mother  ?  "  he  asked,  suddenly. 

"  She  has  gone  to  her  room." 

"  And  your — and  the  prince .''  " 

"  I  asked  him  to  take  a  walk." 

"  Raise  my  head  a  little  ! — that's  it !  Now  give  me 
both  your  hands  !  " 

The  patient  paused  a  few  moments,  and  then  he  spoke 
with  great  clearness  and  decision,  so  that  it  was  evident 
he  had  long  contemplated  what  he  was  about  to  say  and 
turned  it  over  in  his  enfeebled  mind. 

"  My  dear  child  !  It  is  a  good  thing  to  be  rich,  when 
he  who  is  rich  has  also  a  good  heart ;  but  I  believe  it  is 
very  rare  to  find  the  two  together,  or  to  see  them  stay 
together.  And  to  be  clever  is  also  a  good  thing,  but 
without  a  good  heart  it  is  worth  little. 

"  Look  here,  dear  child  !  Your  mother  and  I — we  have 
lived  together  eighteen  years,  and,  next  to  God,  I  have 
loved  and  honored  vour  mother  more  than  all  things. 
I  think  she  has  taken  pains  to  love  me  back  again,  and 
I  do  not  blame  her  if  she  has  not  succeeded.  No,  not 
her,  only  myself.  I  ought  to  have  taken  a  wife  who  was 
more  suitable  to  my  age  and  to  my  ways  ;  but  I  was  vain 
and  proud,  and  I  wanted  a  handsome,  stately,  and  clever 
wife,  such  as  the  world  admires,  and  your  mother  was 
handsome,  stately,  and  clever ;  far  too  pretty  and  too 
clever  for  me,  an  insignificant,  simple  man,  who  never 
was  made  for  the  great  world.  I  felt  it,  therefore,  all 
the  time  in  my  heart  that  I  was  not  the  man  to  make 
your  mother  happy ;  but  she  never  let  me  know  it  dis- 
tinctly until  quite  recently." 

The  old  man  bowed  his  gray  head  sadly,  and  re- 
peated : 

"Quite  recently — when  she  wanted  you  to  marry  your 
cousin  Felix,  and  I  could  not  say  Yes !  and  amen  !  to  it 
• — then  I  saw  very  clearly  that  we  thought  and  felt  in  the 
most  important  and  most  sacred  tilings  so  very  differ- 
ently; and  whether  I  was  right  or  she,  that  docs  not 
matter  now;  but,  my  dear  child,  it  is  a  bad  thing  when 
those  Avhc)  ought   to   love  each  other  cannot  do  it — a 


Through  Night  to  Light.  409 

bad  thing,  my  dear  cliild,  wliich  may  easily  break  a 
heart !  " 

And  as  the  old  man  spoke  these  words  the  tears  were 
rolling  down  his  pale,  wrinkled  cheeks. 

Helen  sat  there,  silent  and  pale.  Her  hands  trembled. 
Her  father's  words  had  apparently  touched  her  to  the 
heart. 

"  Therefore,"  continued  the  baron,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  it  has  always  been  my  principle,  that  parents  ought  not 
to  interfere  Avith  the  affections  of  their  children,  but 
only  to  pray  to  God  that  He  would  lead  their  hearts  to 
choose  well.  Thus  I  have  left  you  your  choice,  then  and 
now.  Then  yovi  could  not  decide  ;  now  you  have  decided. 
I  cannot  conceal  it  from  you  that  I  cannot  understand 
the  prince,  and  that  I  wish  your  future  husband  were 
less  grand  and  less  rich ;  but,  as  it  is,  I  hope  God  will 
turn  it  to  the  best.  You  are  a  good,  clever  girl,  and  I 
think  you  cannot  have  chosen  thoughtlessly,  or  from 
mere  ambition  ;  no  !  no  !  not  thoughtlessly,  nor  from  am- 
bition, for  you  are  my  good,  clever  girl  !  "  repeated  the 
old  man,  as  Helen,  unable  to  control  her  emotion  any 
longer,  hid  her  beautiful  head  on  his  bosom,  and  gave 
way  to  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  girl .''  "  he  said,  frightened  by  this 
sudden  vehemence ;  and  then,  as  if  a  flash  of  lightning 
had  lighted  up  for  an  instant  the  dark  places  in  his 
daughter's  heart,  "  For  God's  sake,  child,  you  have  not 
let  your  eyes  be  dazzled  by  Mammon  !  You  do  not 
love  the  prince  1  You  have  not  followed  the  voice  of 
your  heart,  which  warned  you  against  the  stern  dark 
man,  but  the  counsels  of  your  mother.?  Oh,  my  child  ! 
my  unfortunate  child  !  My  fears,  then,  were  not  ground- 
less !  But  it  is  time  yet  to  turn  back.  I  will  speak 
myself  with  the  prince  ;  I  will  speak  with  him  at  once ; 
he  will  have  pity  on  a  poor  old  man,  who  is  sick  unto 
death." 

And  he  raised  himself  with  spasmodic  efforts  in  his 
bed. 

It  was  a  terrible  struggle  which  was  raging  in  Helen's 
heart  while  the  baron  said  these  words.  Was  theie 
really  a  way  yet  out  of  this  horrible  labyrinth,  in  which 


4IO  Through  Night  to  Light. 

she  had  lost  herself?  Could  the  step,  the  fatal  step,  be 
retraced  ?  At  what  price  ?  At  the  price  of  seeing  her 
pride  humbled  !  Her  proud  betrothed  was  to  have  pity  ! 
Pity  with  her  poor  old  father!  Pity  with  herself! 
Never  .  .  .  Never!  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  she  cried,  seizing  both  of  her  father's 
hands.  "  You  are  mistaken,  father !  I  am  not  unhappy ! 
I  have  not  been  dazzled  and  tempted !  I — I  love  the  prince 
— I  shall  love  him — I  will  try  to  love  him — I  will " 

She  could  not  continue ;  her  throat  was  closed  by  a 
spasm  ;  her  pale  lips  moved,  but  were  unable  to  shape  the 
words  with  which  she  uttered  her  own  sentence  of  death. 

"Oh,  great  God!"  prayed  the  old  man,  "enlighten 
my  child's  heart!  Child!  child!  Do  not  let  your  father 
leave  this  world  with  such  a  terrible  doubt  on  his  mind  ! 
Oh,  if  I  could  but  tell  you  all  as  I  feel  it.  Ah,  this 
pain !     My  God  ...  My  ...  " 

The  sufferer  fell  back  on  his  pillow. 

Helen  held  him  in  her  arms. 

"Papa!  dear  papa!  I  will  do  all  you  ask;  for  I  will  tell 
the  prince — great  God  !  what  is  that  "i  " 

The  hands  of  the  old  man  began  to  tremble ;  cold 
perspiration  bedewed  his  brow. 

It  was  Death  !  Helen  saw  it  with  horror,  and  no 
help  at  hand — no  help !  She  rushed  to  the  bell  and 
pulled,  but  the  bell-rope  remained  in  her  hand.  Then 
she  rushed  back  to  the  bed,  but  the  cold  hands  trembled 
no  longer  :  the  rolling  eyes  were  fixed.  Whatever  help 
might  come  now,  it  came  too  late ;  and  Helen  threw 
herself,  sobbing  aloud,  upon  the  body  of  the  kind  old 
man,  whose  brave  and  true  heart  had  beaten  to  the  last 
moment  so  warmly  for  her,  and  now  stood  still  forever. 


CHAPTER    II. 

WHILE  death  was  settling,  up-stairs,  life's  account  by 
a  single  dash,  the  question  of  credit  and  debit 
had  been  most  actively  discussed  down-stairs  in 
the  apartments  of  the  baroness. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  41 1 

The  baroness's  whole  life  was  given  up  to  this  great 
question,  and  she  had  naturally  a  sharp  eye  for  "all  that 
was  going  on  upon  the  market.  Her  husband's  death, 
which  she  was  expecting  as  a  certainty,  was  likely  to 
change  her  position  entirely,  but  on  the  Avhole  she  was 
not  displeased  with  the  prospect.  It  is  true,  her  savings 
from  the  revenues  of  the  entailed  estates,  which  had  so 
far  benefitted  herself  and  Helen,  and  which,  after  the 
baron's  death,  had  to  be  carried  to  the  principal  till 
Malte  came  of  age,  would  be  lost ;  but  the  sum  total  of 
these  savings  amounted  already  to  nearly  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  all  invested  in  first-class  securities — a 
sum  small  enough,  in  comparison  with  the  whole  estate, 
but  quite  sufficient  if  the  two  farms  belonging  to  Har- 
ald's  bequest  were  added. 

She  had  apparently  arranged  everything  to  her  satis- 
faction, and  if  Grenwitz  should  really  die  now,  why  .  .  . 

At  that  moment  a  letter  was  brought  in.  "  From 
Felix !  "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  and  casting  a  glance  at 
the  direction ;  and  then  she  stepped  to  the  window  to 
read  the  letter. 

It  was  a  short  note,  evidently  written  with  pain  by  the 
trembling  hand  of  a  sick  man,  and  ran  thus : 

"  Dear  Aunt  :  I  have  been  in  such  a  wretched  state  for 
some  days,  that  when  this  letter  reaches  you  I  may  possi- 
bly have  ceased  to  exist,  if  this  way  of  living,  amid  pain 
and  misery,  which  is  fast  coming  to  an  end,  can  be  called 
an  existence.  But  whatever  may  come  of  it,  it  is  high 
time  for  me  to  enlighten  you  on  the  subject  of  the  * 
*  *  affair.  *  *  *  has  not  been  satisfied,  as  I  told 
you.  He  has  a  right  to  demand  four  hundred  dollars  a 
month  till  the  claim  to  Uncle  Harald's  legacy  expires 
by  prescription,  and  besides  six  hundred  dollars,  if  he 
keeps  silent  until  then.  You  will  do  better  to  pay  the 
fellow,  if  you  do  not  wish  him  to  get  you  into  no  end 
of  trouble.  I  have  sent  him  his  four  hundred  for  the 
month  of  November  before  I  left  Greenwood.  I  am 
exhausted. 

"  Yours  faithfully,  Felix. 

"  P.S. — If  you  love  me,  I  pray  you  will  let  my  rascally 
creditors  wait  a  little  longer.     Moses  Hirsch  has  a  note 


412  Through  Night  to  Light. 

of  mine  for  one  thousand  dollars.  Offer  him  two  hun- 
dred for  it;  he  will  still  make  fifty  per  cent." 

The  baroness  came  back  from  the  window,  went  to 
the  fire-place,  laid  the  note  carefully  on  the  burning  coal, 
and  waited  till  the  flames  had  seized  and  consumed  it. 
Then  she  walked  slowly  up  and  down  in  the  room, 
which  began  to  grow  dark.  This  twilight  was  most  fa- 
vorable for  a  face  which  was  downright  disfigured  by 
anger.  She  murmured  curses  against  Felix,  against 
Albert,  against  Oswald,  through  her  teeth.  "  Not  a 
farthing  the  scamp  shall  have!  Not  a  red  cent!  I'll 
send  for  him  and  tell  him  so  to  his  face ;  and,  besides,  I'll 
warn  him  not  to  say  a  word  .  .  .  What  is  it }  "  she  in- 
terrupted her  monologue,  as  the  servant  once  more  en- 
tered the  room. 

"  Mr.  Timm  desires  to  wait  upon  you  on  business." 

Anna  Maria  started.  This  unexpected  call  of  the 
young  man  looked  like  a  threat.  All  of  a  sudden  she 
lost  all  desire  to  tell  Mr.  Timm  to  his  face  that  he  need 
not  expect  a  red  cent  from  her. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Timm  I  regret  not  to  be  able  to  see  him  ; 
the  baron  has  been  taken  ill  very  suddenly." 

"  I  have  told  him  so ;  but  he  said  he  must  see  you  on 
very  important  business,  and  would  detain  you  but  for 
a  moment." 

"  Well,  show  him  in  ;  but — you  had  better  bring  lights; 
and — John,  stay  in  the  next  room,  in  case  I  should  want 
you." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

The  servant  immediately  ushered  in  Albert  Timm,  and 
then  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Good-day  ;  or  rather,  good-evening,"  said  the  young 
man,  approaching  the  baroness  apparently  with  an  air 
of  perfect  unconcern  ;  "  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons  if 
I  interrupt  you.  The  old  gentleman  is  sick,  they  tell 
me!  I  hope  it  is  not  much.  I  should  liave  gone  away 
again,  but  I  have  to  inform  you  of  an  important  discov- 
ery I  have  made  in  the  affair — you  know — which  admits 
of  no  delay.  Shall  we  sit  down  in  the  meantime.''  Al- 
low me!  " 

And  Mr.  Albert  Timm  pushed  an  arm-chair  towards 


Through  Night  to  Light.  413 

the  baroness,  and  the  next  moment  was  comfortably- 
seated  himself. 

Anna  Maria  had  not  quite  decided  yet  in  her  mind 
how  she  should  treat  the  young  man.  But  she  felt  very 
clearly  that  it  would  not  be  very  easy  to  get  the  better 
of  him.  She  sat  down,  therefore,  in  the  seat  he  offered 
her,  and  said,  in  her  most  solemn  tones  : 

"  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  beg  you  to  be  as  brief  as 
possible  ;  the  sad  state  of  things  here,  which  the  servant 
has  mentioned  to  you " 

"Pray,  pray!"  said  Albert;  "exactly  my  purpose. 
Only  two  words  and  I  have  done.  The  thing  is  this  :  I 
have  learnt  quite  accidentally — for  it  is  wonderful  what  a 
great  part  accident  plays  in  the  whole  matter — I  have 
learnt  that  two  persons  who  were  in  Baron  Grenwitz's 
service  at  the  time  when  Miss  Marie  Montbert  was  at 
Grenwitz,  are  still  alive.  They  were  honored  by  Baron 
Grenwitz  with  his  special  confidence ;  and,  for  instance, 
initiated  into  the  whole  story  of  the  elopement.  Now 
they  are  quite  ready,  I  dare  say,  to  appear  as  witnesses 
in  a  suit  which  might  possibly  arise  out  of  the  ques- 
tion of  the  legacy.  The  evidence  of  these  two  per- 
sons would  be  all  the  more  weighty  as  they  are  both 
persons  of  excellent  standing  in  society,  and  enjoy  the 
confidence  of  a  large  circle  of  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. One  of  them  is  sexton  here  in  town — a  man 
who  is  universally  respected;  the  other  —  a  woman — 
lives  in  the  capital,  and  is,  in  spite  of  her  advanced 
age,  still  actively  engaged  in  her  profession,  which,  by 
the  way,  is  that  of  a  superior  nurse.  If  I  had  ever  had 
any  doubt  that  the  young  man  in  question  is  really — 
that  is,  legally — the  son  of  the  late  Baron  Harald,  my 
doubts  would  have  been  completely  removed  by  this 
last  discovery;  and  I  am  sure,  baroness,  you  will  agree 
with  me." 

If  anything  else  besides  Felix's  letter  had  been  needed 
to  kindle  in  Anna  Maria's  heart  the  flame  of  wrath,  it 
was  the  manner  in  which  Albert  Timm  was  presenting 
to  her  the  topic  which  she  so  bitterly  hated.  Neverthe- 
less she  answered  with  a  calmness  which  she  observed 
strictly  in  all  matters  of  business. 


414  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  May  I  beg  to  know,  Mr.  Timm,  why  you  honor  me 
with  this  communication  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  baroness ;  certainly.  That  is  what  I  came 
for.  You  know  that  a  bird  in  hand  is  worth  a  great 
deal  more  than  a  bird  on  a  tree,  and  that  a  man  who 
sells  his  property  for  less  than  its  value  is  entitled  to 
the  name  of  a  fool.  Now  you  know  under  what  condi- 
tions I  have  promised  Baron  Felix  to  keep  my  counsel 
with  regard  to  that  legacy " 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  interrupt  you,  Mr.  Timm.  I  know 
nothing  of  such  conditions.  I  directed  my  nephew  to 
pay  you  a  certain  sum,  solely  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
rid  of  you  ;  and  my  nephew  assured  me,  shortly  before 
he  left  us,  that  the  matter  was  finally  settled.  I  must 
therefore  beg  you  will  please  not  return  to  matters  fully 
settled;  and  excuse  me  if  I  cannot  see  you  any  longer." 

The  baroness  was  on  the  point  of  rising,  when  Albert 
said,  in  a  most  decided  and  incisive  manner  :  "  Pray, 
keep  your  seat  for  a  moment  longer,  baroness  !  "  She 
obeyed  his  request,  half  wondering  and  half  frightened. 

"  I  am  tired  of  being  played  with  in  this  manner," 
continued  Albert,  in  the  same  tone.  "  If  Baron  Felix  has 
not  told  you  the  arrangement  on  which  we  agreed,  he 
was  afraid  of  you,  or  he  had  a  purpose  of  his  own.  After 
all,  it  does  not  matter  much  whether  you  know  the  for- 
mer agreement ;  for  I  have  come  for  the  very  purpose 
of  telling  you  that,  after  what  I  have  recently  discovered, 
I  am  no  longer  disposed  to  let  you  off  so  cheap.  I  now 
demand  nothing  less  than  thirty  thousand  dollars,  paya- 
ble within  the  next  fortnight,  and  request  that  you  will 
with  like  candor  tell  me  whether  you  are  ready  to  pay 
or  not  ?  " 

"  This  impudence  exceeds  all  bounds,"  said  Anna 
Maria,  rising  from  her  seat  and  seizing  the  bell,  which 
was  standing  by  her  on  the  table. 

"  Let  that  thing  alone,"  said  Albert,  coolly  ;  "  that  bell 
might  cost  you  pretty  dear.  Consider  well  what  you 
are  about  to  do  !  If  we  cease  to  be  good  friends  we 
become  mortal  enemies,  and  you  may  rest  assured 
Albert  Timm  gives  no  quarter.  Once  more :  Are  you 
willing  to  pay  or  not .?  " 


Through  Alight  to  Light.  415 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened.  The  servant  en- 
tered with  two  lighted  candelabra,  and  close  behind  him 
came  the  prince.  The  servant  placed  the  lights  on  the 
table  and  went  out ;  the  prince  had  come  up  half-way 
before  he  became  aware  that  the  baroness  was  not 
alone ! 

"  Ah  !  pardon,  madame,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  the  ser- 
vant said  you  were  alone.  Do  you  wish  me  to  leave 
you  alone.'  " 

"  By  no  means,  prince,"  replied  Anna  Maria.  "  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say  to  this  young  man."  And  she  made 
a  motion  with  her  hand,  as  if  she  wished  to  intimate  to 
Albert  that  he  was  dismissed. 

Mr.  Albert  Timm  wagged  his  hat,  which  he  held  in 
both  hands  behind  his  back,  and  said  with  imperturbable 
indiflTerence,  putting  one  foot  a  little  forward  : 

"  It  seems,  baroness,  you  wish  me  to  repeat  my  last 
question  in  the  presence  of  this  gentleman  !  " 

"  Who  is  the  young  man .-'  "  asked  the  prince,  some- 
what astonished  at  Albert's  manner  and  the  excited 
state  of  the  baroness. 

"  A  man,"  replied  the  latter,  "  who  has  annoyed  us  for 
some  time  with  impudent  demands  for  money,  under  the 
pretext  of  possessing  certain  pretended  family  secrets. 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  invoke  the  assistance  of  the 
police  to  get  rid  of  him." 

The  prince  looked  at  Albert  from  the  height  of  his 
lofty  figure,  ^yent  slowly  towards  the  table,  took  the  lit- 
tle silver  bell,  and  touched  it. 

The  servant  entered  immediately. 

"  Show  this  man  out !  "  said  the  prince. 

The  servant  was  so  amazed  by  this  order  that  he  did 
not  trust  his  own  ears.  He  looked,  with  a  face  full  of 
embarrassment,  first  at  the  prince  and  then  at  Mr.  Al- 
bert Timm,  who  was  still  standing  quietly  there,  Avag- 
ging  his  hat  after  the  manner  of  a  dog's  tail,  and  again 
from  Mr.  Albert  Timm  to  the  prince. 

"  Did  you  hear  me.?  "  said  the  latter,  contracting  his 
brows  in  a  threatening  manner. 

The  servant  came  a  step  nearer  to  Timm. 

"  My  good  friend,  I   will    spare   you  the  alternative 


41 6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

either  to  have  your  nose  knocked  into  your  face  or  to  be 
dismissed  from  the  army,"  said  Albert,  good-naturedly, 
"and  prefer,  on  that  account,  to  go  myself  As  for  you, 
baroness,  we  shall  see  each  other  again  shortly,  but  upon 
a  different  footing  ;  and  as  for  you,  young  ma?i,  I  should 
like  to  advise  you  hereafter  not  to  meddle  with  matters 
which  do  not  concern  you  in  the  least,  in  spite  of  the 
great  airs  you  are  giving  yourself." 

The  prince  made  a  motion  towards  his  left  side.  For- 
tunately he  had  left  his  sword  in  the  hall.  Albert 
did  not  wait  for  any  further  measures  on  the  part  of  the 
lion  he  had  roused,  but  made  an  ironical  bow  and  left 
the  room. 

The  prince,  who  had  never  in  his  life  been  treated  in 
this  way,  looked  aghast ;  the  baroness  cast  down  her  eyes. 

"That  could  not  have  happened  at  home,  in  Russia," 
said  the  prince. 

"  I  regret,"  said  the  baroness,  "  that  accident  should 
have  made  you  witness  so  unpleasant  an  occurrence." 

At  the  same  moment  the  servant  re-entered  the  room, 
deadly  pale,  and  cried,  breathlessly : 

"  Oh,  ma'am  !  come  quickly!     The  baron  is  dying!" 

"  Ohj  mon  Dieu  .'"  exclaimed  the  baroness,  and  seemed 
on  the  point  of  fainting. 

"Compose  yourself,  madame!  compose  yourself!" 
said  the  prince.  "  Bear  what  has  to  be  borne.  Will  you 
take  my  arm  ?     Ho,  there  !  show  us  the  way  !" 


CHAPTER    III. 

ABOUT  the  same  hour — perhaps  a  little  earlier — 
two  gentlemen  displayed  at  the  billiard-table,  in 
the  restaurant  near  the  main  guard-house  on  the 
square,  that  industry  which  is  so  becoming  to  busy 
idlers.  The  two  gentlemen  who  met  at  this  favorite 
lounging  place  of  the  Jeunesse  dor'ee  of  Grunwald,  were 
Cloten  and  Barnewitz.     The  former,  who  excelled  in  all 


Through  Night  to  Light.  417 

the  arts  which  required  a  sure  eye  and  a  steady  hand, 
and  no  head  work,  had  beaten  his  adversary  in  every 
game,  and  hence  the  young  man  Avas  in  excellent  humor, 
while  the  other  was  nearly  angry. 

"  Another  game,  Barnewitz  ?  "  asked  Cloten,  triumph- 
antly, after  having  finished  the  twelfth  with  a  brilliant 
carom. 

"  Thank  you  ;  no  !  "  said  Barnewitz,  throwing  his  cue 
on  the  billiard-table ;  "  am  not  in  the  right  humor  for  it 
to-day.  I  cannot  play  well  anyhow  in  this  miserable 
twilight !  " 

"We  can  have  the  lamps  lit." 

"No,  thank  you  !  Another  day!  We  can  play  quits 
to-morrow." 

Cloten  now  laid  down  his  cue  also,  stepped  before  the 
looking-glass  and  twisted  his  blonde  moustache,  while 
Barnewitz  threw  himself  upon  the  sofa  and  yawned. 

"  It  is  wretchedly  tedious  here,"  he  said ;  "  don't  know 
how  on  earth  to  kill  the  whole  afternoon  !" 

"  Let  us  take  a  walk." 

"  It  is  too  abominably  cold." 

"A  game  at  piquet  }  " 

"Too  tiresome." 

"  A  bottle  of  claret  ?  " 

"Well,  that's  better." 

"  Waiter !  a  bottle  of  pechon  and  a  light." 

The  waiter  brought  what  was  ordered.  Cloten  threw 
himself  into  an  arm-chair  opposite  to  Barnewitz,  and 
stretched  out  his  legs. 

"Well.?" 

"  Well !  " 

*■'  Don't  you  know  anything.?  " 

«  No  !     Do  you  ?  " 

"No!  " 

After  this  exchange  of  bright  thoughts  there  followed, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  a  pause  of  exhaustion,  and  the 
ship  of  conversation  remained  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
stranded  on  a  sandbank,  while  the  two  men  smoked 
their  cigars  and  sipped  their  wine. 

Cloten  and  Barnewitz  had  been  apparently  excellent 
friends  ever  since  their  terrible  collision  in  summer,  but 
18* 


41 8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

in  reality  they  liad  watched  each  other  with  unbroken 
distrust.  It  is  true,  the  distrust  was  but  too  well 
founded  in  this  case.  Hortense  Barnewitz  had  no  sooner 
come  to  Grunwald  than  she  cast  out  her  net — experi- 
enced fisher  of  men  as  she  was — after  her  old  lover,  and 
Cloten  had  at  that  time  already  discovered  that  happiness 
in  the  arms  of  his  former  lady-love  Avas  far  more  at- 
tractive than  the  honor  of  being  the  husband  of  tlie 
most  fashionable  lady  in  town.  Barnewitz,  on  the  other 
hand,  gave  the  noble  couple  ample  opportunity  for 
meeting ;  for  he  threw  himself,  at  Grunwald,  head  fore- 
most into  a  vortex  of  amusements,  of  which  there  was 
no  lack  there  for  a  rich  nobleman  who  cared  more  for 
quantity  than  for  quality.  Nevertheless,  he  was  as  much 
the  victim  of  jealousy  now  as  before,  and  he  was  there- 
fore highly  pleased  to  see,  what  all  others  saw  as  well, 
that  Emily  treated  her  husband  like  a  school-boy,  and 
had  evidently  found  a  worthier  object  for  her  loving 
heart. 

Barnewitz  had  long  wished  for  an  hour  when  he  might 
inform  Cloten  under  the  mask  of  friendship  of  the  re- 
ports which  filled  the  town  about  him  and  his  wife. 
The  day  before  he  had  accidentally  heard  of  some  new 
scandal,  and  to-day  Cloten's  superiority  at  billiards  had 
greatly  annoyed  him.  After  thinking  the  matter  over 
for  some  time,  therefore,  he  exploded  : 

"  How  is  your  wife,  Cloten  V 

"  Thanks !  Pretty  well ;  how  so  }  "  replied  Cloten,  not 
a  little  astonished  at  the  brusque  question. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  permitted  to  inquire  after  your 
wife !     Or,  do  you  allow  no  questions  to  be  asked  V 

"  Certainly;  but  what  do  you  mean.?" 

"  Because  she  has  been  so  very  charming  these  last 
days." 

"  Is  that  so  very  uncommon.?"  asked  Cloten,  slightly 
embarrassed,  and  torturing  his  moustache. 

"  Yes ;  for  she  had  just  before  treated  everybody, 
yourself  included,  so  very  badly,  that  one  could  not  help 
wondering  at  the  sudden  change.  At  all  events,  I  was 
not  the  only  one  to  notice  it ;  the  whole  world  is  full  of 
it." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  /\ig 

"  The  whole  world  ought  to  pull  its  own  nose,"  said 
Cloten  ;  and  his  hand  trembled  with  annoyance  as  he 
filled  his  glass. 

"  Certainly;  but  they  don't  do  it." 

" the  whole  world  !" 

"  Certainly ;  if  you  wish  it.  But  if  you  would  rather 
talk  about  something  else  ; — I  only  thought  that,  as  your 
oldest  friend,  it  was  my  duty  to  call  your  attention  to 
certain  things." 

"  Well,  then,  come ;  out  with  your  story,"  said  Cloten, 
with  nervous  vehemence.     "  What  is  it  ?     Out  with  it  I" 

'*  I  shall  take  good  care  not  to  say  anything  more,  if 
the  first  word  puts  you  into  such  a  state." 

"  I  am  not  in  any  state,"  said  Cloten;  and  to  prove  it, 
he  dashed  his  glass  upon  the  table,  so  that  the  foot  broke 
to  pieces  and  the  wine  flooded  the  marble  top. 

"  You  are  a  queer  fellow,"  said  Barnewitz.  "  Wait 
till  you  have  cause  to  get  angry.  What  does  it  amount 
to  .-•  They  say  that  you  are  not  exactly  Darby  and  Joan  ; 
that  your  wife  has  her  own  way ;  that  you  quarrel  occa- 
sionally so  that  the  servants  hear  it  in  the  kitchen,  and 
the  like." 

"  Who  says  so  ?  " 

"  The  whole  world  !  " 

"  And  you  believe  it  ?  " 

Barnewitz  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  hurt  your  feelings,  Arthur;  but  I 
cannot  deny  it  that  the  way  your  wife  acts  looks  very 
suspicious  to  me.  I  should  not  wonder,  and  no  one  in 
our  circle  would  wonder,  if  she  had  some  little  liaison, 
and  I  rather  think  I  know  the  person." 

"  I  insist  upon  it  that  you  tell  me  all  you  know," 
said  Cloten,  with  great  pathos. 

"  Do  you  recollect  the  party  at  my  house  last  sum- 
mer.-"  But  of  course  you  do,  for  we  came  near  killing 
each  other  on  that  occasion.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Well,  on  that 
evening  already  your  wife  began  to  flirt  with  that  con- 
founded fool — that  Doctor  Stein — in  a  way  which  struck 
everybody,  and  me  too.  But  I  had  totally  forgotten  the 
whole  affair  till  I  was  reminded  of  it  yesterday.  You 
recollect  I  had  left  Stilow's  because,  to  tell  the  truth, 


420  Through  Night  to  Light. 

the  wine  was  too  bad,  and  I  was  very  thirsty.  I  found 
my  way  to  the  city  cellars,  where  the  company  is  low 
enough  but  the  wine  excellent.  There  were  a  dozen 
people — authors,  actors,  and  such  stuff — sitting  round  a 
table  and  drinking;  among  them  our  old  friend  Timm, 
the  surveyor,  who  talked  very  big.  I  sat  down  at  some 
distance,  ordered  a  few  dozen  oysters  and  a  bottle  of 
champagne,  and  listened,  because  I  could  not  help  lis- 
tening. They  talked,  heaven  knows  what  stuff.  I  did 
not  understand  a  word,  and  was  just  thinking  what  a 
lot  of  sheep  they  all  were,  and  my  eyes  were  beginning 
to  be  heavy,  when  I  suddenly  heard  somebody  men- 
tion your  name,  or  rather  your  wife's  name.  Of  course, 
I  was  wide  awake  in  a  moment.  '  Who  is  she .'' '  asked 
somebody.  *  A  wonderful  creature,' said  Timm.  'Well, 
and  friend  Stein  is  in  love  with  her.'  'That's  it!' 
'What  a  fellow  —  that  man  Stein!'  '  How  did  he  get 
hold  of  her  }  '  '  Oh,  that  is  a  long  story  !  '  said  Timm ; 
and  then  they  put  their  heads  together  and  talked  so 
low  that  I  could  not  hear  the  rest.  At  all  events  they 
laughed  like  madmen,  and  I  had  a  great  mind  to  pitch 
a  few  bottles  at  their  heads." 

"  Why  didn't  you  do  it .''  "  asked  Cloten,  angrily. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  get  into  trouble  in  a  strange  estab- 
lishment ;  I  have  had  to  pay  for  it  often  enough,"  re- 
plied the  philosophic  nobleman,  pouring  the  rest  of  the 
bottle  into  his  glass. 

Then  followed  a  pause,  after  which  Cloten  cried  out 
with  much  vehemence  :  "  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

Barnewitz  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  That's  the  best  for  you  to  do." 

"  Don't  say  so  !  I  won't  have  it !  "  exclaimed  Cloten, 
furiously. 

"  I  only  say  what  the  world  says,"  replied  Barnewitz, 
sipping  his  wine  leisurely. 

"  And  you  think  the  world  says  nothing  about  you  }  " 
asked  Cloten,  ironically. 

"What   do   they  say  about   me?"   cried   Barnewitz, 

starting  up.     " the  fellow  who  dares  say  a  word; 

and  I  think  you,  of  all  men,  ought  to  be  most  careful 
not  to  open  your  mouth." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  421 

"  Careful  or  not,  I  don't  see  why  I  sliould  not  talk  as 
well  as  you." 

"  What !  a  fellow  like  you  ?  "  said  Barnewitz,  thrust- 
ing his  hands  into  his  pockets  with  an  air  of  contempt. 
"  I  suppose  you  think  you  are  w^onderfully  successful 
with  the  sex  1 " 

Who  knows  what  serious  consequences  might  have 
arisen  from  this  Avord-combat  if  the  door  of  the  billiard- 
room  had  not  opened  just  then  to  admit  Professor 
Jager,  who  crept  in  cautiously,  after  having  first  recon- 
noitred the  room  through  his  round  glasses. 

Professor  Jager's  appearance  was  never  specially  in- 
viting, but  on  this  evening  there  was  something  peculi- 
arly unpleasant  about  the  man's  pale  face.  His  stereo- 
typed smile,  and  the  drooping  corners  of  the  mouth, 
contrasted  with  his  effort  to  give  an  air  of  solemnity  to  his 
forehead,  and  to  look  as  melancholy  as  possible  through 
his  spectacles,  so  that  he  appeared  on  the  whole  not  un- 
like a  black  torn  cat  who  glides  purring  and  with  raised 
back  around  a  person's  leg,  preparing  to  scratch  his 
hands  the  next  moment  furiously. 

Thus  he  drew  near  to  the  two  noblemen,  made  a  very 
low  bow,  and  said  : 

"  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons  if  I  am  disturbing  the 
entente  cordiale  of  two  bosom  friends,  but " 

"  Come  here,  professor,"  said  Barnewitz,  who  wel- 
comed the  interruption;  "join  us  in  a  glass  of  pichon. 
Waiter  !  another " 

"  Pray,  don't ;  many  thanks.  Regret  infinitely  that  I 
should  have  interrupted  you  in  your  cozy  talk ;  but  I 
heard  at  your  house,  Baron  Cloten,  that  I  should  find 
you  here,  and  a  matter  of  importance  which  I  had  to 
communicate " 

"Don't  mind  me,  gentlemen,"  said  Barnewitz.  "I'll 
go  into  the  reading-room  till  you  have  done." 

"  Pray,  pray ;  I  have  only  two  words " 

"  Well,  all  right.     Call  me  when  you  have  done !  " 

With  these  words  Barnewitz  went  into  the  adjoining 
room,  where  he  rested  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  his 
head  on  his  hands,  and  then  plunged  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  Grunwald  official  journal. 


422  Through  Night  to  Light. 

He  had  no  sooner  left  them  than  Professor  Jager 
turned  to  Cloten  and  said,  whispering  mysteriously  : 

"  Baron  Cloten,  I  have  to  tell  you  something  that  will 
frighten  you." 

Cloten  turned  pale  and  stepped  back.  His  first  thought 
was  that  his  stables  had  be'en  burnt,  and  Arabella 
and  Macdonald,  his  two  thoroughbreds,  had  perished  in 
the  flames.  The  professor  did  not  leave  him  long  in 
this  terrible  uncertainty;  but  with  a  low,  spectral  voice, 
and  drawing  the  corners  of  his  mouth  so  low  down  that 
they  seemed  to  meet  under  the  chin,  he  said :  "  Your 
wife " 

"  Ha!"  cried  Cloten.  "  What  is  it.?  What  has  hap- 
pened.''" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Jager,  "  but  I  fear  for  the 
worst.  Look  at  this  paper  [he  searched  his  pockets  and 
produced  a  folded-up  piece  of  paper].  I  found  it  just 
now  on  my  wife's  writing-table.  But  before  T  read  to 
you  what  is  on  the  paper  you  must  swear  you  will  never 
tell  from  whom  you  have  heard  it." 

"  I'll  swear  anything  you  want,"  said  Cloten,  with 
nervous  excitement.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  the 
paper.?  " 

*'  Directly,  directly !  First,  let  me  tell  you  that  for 
some  weeks  now  your  wife  and  mine  have  become  great 
friends,  an  intimacy  which  from  the  beginning  has  puz- 
zled me  sorely.  Their  meetings,  I  was  told,  had  a  purely 
poetical  purpose — you  know  my  wife  is  president  of  the 
Lyric  Club — but  I  was  struck  by  the  fact  that  a  third 
person  appeared  there  always,  or  at  least  very  frequently, 
a  person  against  whom  I  have  ever  felt  an  unconquera- 
ble aversion.     This  person  is " 

"Doctor  Stein!  I  know  I  Go  on,"  said  Cloten,  breath- 
lessly. 

"  You  know  ! — ah,  indeed  !"  replied  the  professor,  with 
a  Mephistophelian  smile,  which  gleamed  unpleasantly 
behind  his  glasses.  "  Oh,  well ;  then  the  hardest  part  of 
my  task  has  been  performed  by  others.  Well,  sir,  if 
you  know  it  already  I  will  not  detain  you  by  telling 
you  how  the  first  spark  of  suspicion  fell  into  my  simple 
soul ;   how  subsequent  observations  fanned  this  into  a 


Through  Night  to  Light.  423 

bright  flame,  which  threatened  to  consume  this  heart  of 
mine,  that  only  beats  for  the  welfare  of  my  brethren  [here 
the  professor  laid  his  hand  Avith  its  black  glove  on  the 
left  side].  I  dared  not  forbid  my  wife  all  intercourse 
with  the  person  in  question.  You  know,  sir,  poetic 
minds  are  apt  to  be  eccentric,  and  the  aesthetic  stand- 
point from  which " 

"  But  I  pray  you,  professor,  come  to  the  point,"  said 
Cloten,  who  was  standing  upon  coals.  "What  was  on 
the  paper?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Jager,  opening  the  paper,  "  it  is 
the  rough  sketch  of  a  poem,  which  I  found  quite  wet  yet 
on  my  wife's  bureau  ;  the  servant  told  me  she  had  just 
left  the  house  to  pay  a  visit.     Shall  I  read  it  to  you.^  " 

"  Yes;  in  the  devil's  name!"  cried  Cloten,  who  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  saying. 

Professor  Jager  arranged  his  spectacles  carefully  on 
his  nose,  drew  the  light  somewhat  nearer,  and  read,  in  a 
half-loud,  rattling  voice,  while  the  young  nobleman  was 
looking  over  his  shoulder :  " '  Grunwald,  December  10, 
1847.'     You  see  the  date  corresponds  exactly. 

'  FOR  THE  ALBUM  OF  AN  ESCAPING  PRISONER. 

'  You  flee  ! — by  the  light  of  the  twinkling  stars, 
In  rapturous  flight  through  Cimmerian  night ; 
You  flee  !  and  alas  I  would  break  all  the  bars, 
I,  who  have  watched  over  you  day  and  night  ! 
But  terrible  bonds  have  forged  me  a  chain, 
Which  ever  in  bondage  will  here  me  retain. 
You  flee  ! — and  I  stay  in  Cimmerian  night.' 

"  You  see  this  poetical  eccentricity  of  a  soul  generally 
chaste  and  full  of  affection,"  said  the  professor,  who  had 
read  the  last  lines  with  a  somewhat  unsteady  voice. 

"  Go  on  !  go  on  !  "  urged  Cloten,  whose  sufferings 
made  him  indifferent  to  the  sufferings  of  others. 

The  professor  continued  : 

" '  You  flee  !  and  the  icicles  glitter  so  bright, 
The  hoofs  now  thunder  on  quivering  ice, 
You  are  not  frightened  by  terrible  night. 
You  follow  the  lurings  of  glorious  price. 
You  flee  !  and  you  do  what  is  proper  and  right  ! 
Why  should  you  remain  with  a  wretched  wight 
A  puppet  of  wood  on  a  couch  of  ice  ?'" 


42  4  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  That  is  meant  for  me !  "  said  Cloten,  furiously,  grind- 
ing his  teeth. 

"  Certainly,  certainly  !  "  said  the  professor ;  "but  lis- 
ten : 

"  '  You  flee  !  and  yonder  on  rockiest  strand, 
In  nurse's  familiar  house  by  the  sea, 
There  falls  in  a  moment  the  hampering  band 
That  bound  you  before,  and  there  is  he  ! 
There  love  in  a  thousand  fiery  brooks, 
Breaks  forth  in  caresses  and  tenderest  looks 
In  Nurse's  familiar  house  by  the  sea. 

" '  You  flee  !  and  alas  'tis  not  to  the  port, 

Where  spies  are  no  more  nor  watching  eyes  ! 
Oh  flee  to  the  safe,  to  the  only  resort. 
Where  wait  for  you  milder  and  happier  skies  ! 
Oh  flee  to  the  banks  of  the  beautiful  Seine, 
Where  love  is  at  freedom,  amain  !   amain  ! 
And  free  from  society's  hateful  lies  !'  " 

The  professor  folded  up  the  paper  again,  pocketed  it, 
and  said : 

"  This  poem  troubled  me  sorely,  for  I  know  the  way 
my  wife  makes  her  poems.  She  takes  the  subject  from 
actual  life.  But  I  was  much  more  startled  yet,  when  I 
went  on  using  a  husband's  right  and  examined  the 
papers  that  were  scattered  all  over  her  table.  I  found 
this  little  note  [here  the  professor  put  his  hand  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket].  Do  you  know  the  hand-wx'iting. 
Baron  Cloten .?  " 

"  That  is  my  wife's  hand,"  cried  the  young  nobleman, 
casting  a  glance  at  the  paper.  "  What  does  she  say  .-'  Let 
me  see!  'AH  remains  as  agreed  upon,  dear  Primula. 
Everything  is  ready.  We  meet  at  Mrs.  Lemberg's.  To- 
morrow at  this  hour  a  world  divides  us.  Shall  I  be 
able  to  embrace  you  once  more  }  I  shall  be  at  home  at 
three.  I  should  like  to  see  you  so  much,  but — can  you 
venture  to  come  without  rousing  suspicion .''  I  leave 
the  matter  to  you.  Good-by,  good-by,  dearest !  Free 
to-day !  Oh,  I  can  hardly  conceive  such  happiness ! 
Good-by — a  thousand  farewells !  '  By  the  Almighty  !  " 
cried  the  happy  husband,  crumpling  up  the  paper  and 
pushing  it  into  his  pocket.  "Now  I  see  it  all  !  I  never 
could  understand  why  she  was  all  the  time  going  to  see 


Through  Night  to  Light.  425 

that  old  woman  in  Ferrytown !  But  I'll  spoil  the  fun; 
I'll " 

As  the  happy  man  did  not  exactly  know  Avhat  he  was 
going  to  do,  he  broke  down,  and  walked  up  and  down, 
like  a  man  suffering  with  a  furious  toothache. 

Professor  Jager  looked  at  him,  his  head  inclined  on 
his  right  shoulder,  and  folding  his  hands  in  sympathetic 
emotion  ;  but  he  had  the  air  of  an  ear-owl,  gazing  with 
big,  staring  eyes  at  a  poor  foolish  bird  that  has  been 
caught  in  a  snare. 

"  You  may  believe  me,  my  dear  sir,"  he  said;  "  I  am 
heartily  sorry  for  the  whole  thing ;  and  I  assure  you  1 
would  have  kept  it  all  to  myself  if  I  did  not  think  it  was 
the  good  shepherd's  duty  to  snatch  the  lamb  from  the 
jaws  of  the  Avolf.  For  this  man  is  a  raving  wolf.  I 
found  him  out  at  first  sight,  but  they  would  not  believe 
me.  Now  they  see  it  clear  enough.  Only  this  morning 
Doctor  Black,  one  of  the  trustees  of  the  college,  came  to 
see  me,  and  to  tell  me  that  Doctor  Clemens  had  called 
for  an  official  inquiry  into  the  conduct  of  the  terrible  man, 
which  could  not  fail  to  end  in  his  dismissal — his  dismissal 
in  disgrace.  And  while  I  was  still  considering  how  we 
could  best  make  it  known  to  all  the  world  that  he  was 
a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothes,  chance  came  to  my  aid  and 
caused  these  papers  to  fall  into  my  hands,  which  prove 
clearly  that  the  worst  that  was  reported  about  this 
man  was  not  as  bad  yet  as  the  truth.  I  knew  at  once 
what  my  duty  was.  Certain  that  my  wife  would  never 
hear  of  the  exposure  to  which  I  had  been  morally 
forced,  and  relying  on  the  discretion  of  a  nobleman,  I 
hastened " 

"  I  must  consult  Barnewitz,"  said  Cloten,  suddenly  ; 
and  he  made  a  motion  as  if  he  were  going  into  the  room 
where  Barnewitz  was  waiting. 

"  For  God's  sake,  my  dear  sir,"  cried  the  frightened 
professor,  "  are  you  going  to  ruin  me }  Consider,  I 
pray,  you  have  solemnly  promised  not  to  expose  Mrs. 
Jager " 

"Nonsense!"  said  Cloten;  "you  surely  would  not 
have  me  go  into  such  a  serious  matter  alone.  Barne- 
witz !  " 


426  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  the  latter,  looking  up  from 
his  paper. 

"  Just  come  this  way  !  I  have  something  important 
to  tell  you." 

Barnewitz  came,  and  Cloten  told  him  rapidly  what 
the  matter  Avas,  while  the  professor  stood  by,  rubbing 
his  hands,  in  great  embarrassment. 

"  It  cannot  be  doubted,"  continued  Cloten.  "  I  must 
tell  you  frankly  I  had  my  suspicions ;  but,  to  be  sure,  I  did 
not  guess  that  rascal — that  man  Stein  .  .  .  But  I  see  it 
all  now.  I  knew  she  was  going  over  to  Ferrytown  again 
to-day  ;  and  now  I  remember  she  said,  contrary  to  her 
usual  way,  she  would  not  be  back  before  night.  And 
then  you  saw  last  night  —  oh,  no  doubt  it  is  all  sol 
What  am  I  to  do  "i  What  ought  I  to  do  V  And  the 
young  man  struck  his  forehead  with  his  closed  fist. 

"  What  ought  you  to  do .''  "  said  Barnewitz.  "  Let  her 
run  !  " 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  professor  ;  "  that  would  cause 
an  unheard-of  scandal,  which  even  now,  I  think,  can  only 
be  prevented  by  very  energetic  measures." 

"  The  professor  is  right,"  said  Cloten  ;  "  we  must  not 
let  them  get  off;  but  I  cannot  alone.  Will  you  help  me, 
Barnewitz  }  " 

"  Avec  p/aisir,"  replied  Barnewitz.  "  I  never  could 
bear  the  fellow  !  " 

"  But  pericu/um  in  mora,  gentlemen.  You  must  go  to 
work  at  once !  "  chimed  in  the  professor. 

"  Well,  we  will,"  said  Cloten.  "  Come,  Barnewitz  ; 
I'll  tell  you  on  the  way  what  I  think  we  had  better  do. 
The  professor  will  accompany  us  part  of  the  way." 

"With  pleasure;  with  great  pleasure!"  replied  the 
professor.  "  To  be  sure,  my  time  is  very  limited  now  ; 
very  limited.  Ah — here  is  the  door ;  I  pray,  after  you, 
gentlemen  !  " 

And  the  three  gentlemen  hastily  left  the  restaurant. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  427 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  broad  sheet  of  ice  between  the  firm  land  and 
the  island  had  been  for  many  a  week  an  immense 
bridge.  People  no  longer  thought  of  it  that 
they  were  walking  on  frozen  water,  and  that  the  hoofs 
of  the  horses  were  ringing  so  loud  because  they  were 
trotting  over  a  vast  abyss.  What  fear  they  might  feel 
was  easily  dispersed  as  they  looked  at  the  gigantic  blocks 
of  ice  which  the  fishermen  had  placed  as  warning-posts 
around  the  large  holes  cut  for  the  fish,  provided  they 
did  not  carelessly  drive  or  walk  right  into  them,  which 
was  not  likely,  at  least  in  the  daytime.  And  as  long  as 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  shone  on  the  bright  ice, 
which  covered  the  sound  for  miles  and  miles  east  and 
west  of  the  town,  there  Avere  crowds  of  pedestrians  to 
be  seen  among  numerous  sleighs,  which  were  often 
drawn  by  two  and  not  unfrequently  even  by  four  horses. 
But  when  the  sun  had  set  and  the  mists  were  thicken- 
ing, the  moving  black  thread  which  connected  by  day 
the  town  with  the  little  village  of  Ferrytown  became 
thinner  and  thinner.  The  fishermen,  who  have  been  out 
fishing  miles  away,  come  in  on  their  low  sledges  ;  or, 
standing  upright  on  their  sleighs,  and  pushing  them 
with  a  long  iron-shod  pole,  they  sweep  by,  one  by  one, 
drifting  with  marvellous  swiftness  through  the  gray 
fog,  like  ghosts  of  the  desert,  like  spirits  from  the  north- 
ern regions.  And  now  lights  are  seen  on  both  sides  of 
the  sound  :  a  few  on  the  island,  many  more  on  the  side 
of  the  town ;  now  the  stars  also,  which  until  now  have 
peeped  stealthily  here  and  there  only  through  the  dark 
evening  sky,  begin  to  sparkle  and  shine  in  groups,  so 
that  the  eye  cannot  see  enough  of  their  great  splendor. 
But  no  one  minds  them.  The  moving  black  thread  is 
no  longer  seen  ;  only  here  and  there  a  belated  wanderer, 
who  hastens  his  steps,  although  knowing  full  well  that 
nothing  can  happen  to  him  if  he  but  follows  the  path ; 
or  a  sleigh,  one  of  those  small,  light  one-horse  sleighs, 
which  are  fitted  up  in  vast  numbers  during  winter  by 


428  Through  Night  to  Light. 

fishermen  and  ferrymen  in  order  to  serve  the  restless 
public. 

Such  a  sleigh  was  just  trotting  past  through  the  dim 
twilight  as  night  was  sinking  lower  and  lower  every 
moment,  and  fogs  and  mists  began  to  cover  the  fields  of 
ice.  There  was  but  a  single  passenger  sitting  in  the 
sleigh  by  the  side  of  the  driver ;  he  had  a  fur  cap  drawn 
low  over  his  face,  and  the  collar  of  his  cloak  Avas  drawn 
up  high. 

As  long  as  they  were  meeting  near  the  harbor  sleighs 
and  foot-passengers  on  their  return,  not  a  word  was  said 
by  passenger  or  driver;  but  when  they  rode  out  on  the 
wild  desert  of  ice,  when  the  lights  in  town  were  looking 
him,  and  the  trot  of  the  crop-eared  hack  was  sounding 
loud  and  clear,  the  gentleman  raised  himself  in  his  cor- 
ner and  said  : 

"All  in  order,  Claus.'" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  handsome  youth,  turning  half 
round  on  his  seat. 

"  Have  you  heard  from  your  cousin  .?" 

"  I  saw  him  yesterday  myself  He  will  be  on  the  strand 
near  Barow  punctually  at  five.  He  has  his  two  best 
horses.  They  will  trot  with  you  until  to-morrow  at  the 
same  hour." 

"  That  is  more  than  I  want,  if  you  know  the  track  to 
Barow .''" 

"  If  I  know  it .'  I  drive  it  every  day.  But  I  should 
not  advise  any  one  who  does  not  know  it  as  well  as  I 
do  to  drive  aside." 

"Why  not.?" 

"  The  Barow  people  have  cut  hole  upon  hole  into  the 
ice;  and  where  they  stop  the  Ferrytown  holes  begin. 
You  see  nothing  but  blue  water  on  your  right  and  on 
your  left.     Cheer  up.  Fox  !" 

The  crop-eared  horse  went  faster,  and  the  two  men  re- 
lapsed into  silence.  Both  listened  carefully,  but  with 
very  different  feelings.  Claus  Lemberg  enjoyed  the  ad- 
venture, because  it  stirred  up  his  strong  nerves  most 
delightfully,  and  brought  out  his  cunning  and  his  cour- 
age, the  two  qualities  which  he  was  proudest  of  in  his 
whole  nature.    The  other  man  looked  at  it  more  thought- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  429 

fully.  He  knew  he  was  taking  a  step  which  he  could 
never  retrace,  a  step  which  was  to  decide  not  only  his 
own  fate — that  mattered  little — but  also  the  fate  of 
another  being,  a  woman,  who  had  won  a  right  to  his 
love  by  her  own  sacrificing  love,  a  woman  who  had 
given  up  rank  and  riches,  and  every  advantage  which 
her  birth  and  her  social  position  gave  her,  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  being  his,  and  who  now  was  waiting  for  him 
in  anxiety  and  anguish  on  yonder  shore,  from  which 
the  lights  began  to  beckon  to  him.  His  heart  was  natu- 
rally full  of  anxious  care.  He  had  broken  off  the  bridge 
behind  him  ;  he  was  hastening  toward  a  future  as  black 
as  the  night  by  which  he  was  surrounded,  but  by  no 
means  lighted  up  by  as  many  bright,  sparkling  stars. 
But  no  matter — the  die  is  cast ;  he  cannot  go  back.  For- 
ward then,  forward  !  What  is  that .''  A  sleigh  coming 
behind  us.'* 

Oswald  raised  himself  and  listened,  but  Claus's  sharp 
ears  had  already  discovered  the  direction  from  which 
the  sound  came. 

"  It  is  a  two-horse  sleigh  from  over  yonder,"  he  said, 
turning  a  little  to  the  right.  "  They  have  fine  horses  ; 
they'll  be  here  directly." 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  they  saw  the  sleigh — a 
da^rk  mass,  which  slipped  through  the  darkness  like  a 
flash  of  lightning.  As  they  passed  each  other  the  dri- 
ver checked  the  horses  a  moment,  and  a  voice  asked  : 

"  This  is  the  track,  isn't  it  1  " 

"  Straight  ahead.'  "  was  Claus's  reply. 

Then  again  the  same  voice  : 

''  The  ice  is  strong  enougli  for  two  horses  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  four  !  "  replied  Clans. 

"  Thanks !  " 

"  Welcome  !  " 

And  the  sleigh  moved  on  swiftly  again. 

"Strange!"  murmured  Oswald;  "I  thought  I  heard 
Oldenburg's  voice.  What  strange  tricks  our  fancy  can 
play  us  !  " 

The  rest  of  the  journey  to  Ferrytown  was  accom- 
plished in  silence.  They  reached  it  in  a  few  minutes. 
Lights  were  shining  in  the  houses  up  on  the  bluffs.     Be- 


43°  Throtigh  Night  to  Light. 

low,  near  the  ferry,  where  an  inn  was  standing,  there 
was  much  life;  the  windows  were  bright;  music  was 
heard ;  sleighs  were  standing  before  the  door. 

Claus  stopped  ;  Oswald  got  out. 

"  I'll  drive  along  the  beach  as  far  as  our  house,"  said 
Claus,  "and  wait  for  you  there.  But  make  haste.  In 
half  an  hour  the  moon  rises,  and  then  they  can  see  us 
two  miles  on  the  ice." 

"  Don't  be  afraid.     We  shall  not  keep  you  waiting." 

Oswald  went  past  the  inn,  up  the  steep  village  street; 
then  he  turned  to  the  right  and  hastened  along  the  low 
cottages,  which  there  line  the  beach,  until  he  came  to 
the  last  of  the  row.  Through  a  crack  in  the  shutters 
which  protected  the  low  window  there  came  a  faint  ray 
of  light.  Oswald  gave  three  measured  knocks  against 
the  shutter.  Immediately  the  door  was  opened  cau- 
tiously. Oswald  slipped  in.  In  the  hall  he  was  met  by 
an  old  woman  of  tall  stature  and  large  frame,  holding  a 
light  in  her  hand  ;  by  her  side  stood  a  frail,  youthful  per- 
son, who  fell  into  Oswald's  arms  as  he  entered. 

"  At  last !  at  last !  " 

"  At  last !   Emily  .?     Why,  I  come  by  the  minute !  " 

"  Maybe  !     I  am  nearly  dead  with  impatience." 

"  Is  everything  ready  .''  " 

"Yes." 

"  Did  anybody  see  you  when  you  left .''  " 

"  No  one,  except  Jager's  wife ;  she  insisted  upon 
coming  with  me.  I  could  not  get  rid  of  her.  She  is 
in  the  room  there." 

"  The  fool !  " 

"Don't  scold  her.     We  owe  her  much;  be  kind  to  her!" 

"  She  will  show  our  enemies  the  way." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that.  Cloten  is  quite  unsuspi- 
cious. I  told  him  I  would  not  be  back  till  night. 
Come  in !  " 

Emily  drew  Oswald  into  the  little  low  room,  where 
Primula  was  standing  by  a  table,  making  tea.  As  soon 
as  she  saw  Oswald  she  rushed  into  his  arms. 

"Oswald!"  she  cried,  "this  is  the  last  moment!  A 
cup  of  tea,  some  rum,  and  you  must  go  !  Be  brave  and 
firm !  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  431 

"  Time  is  precious,"  said  Oswald,  disengaging  him- 
self from  Primula's  embrace.     "  We  must  go,  Emily." 

"  Not  without  having  drained  this  cup,"  said  Primula, 
pouring  the  tea  into  a  cup.  "  You  know,  Oswald,  it  is 
cold  without,  and  in  the  night  air  we  shiver ;  even  we 
immortal  gods." 

Primula's  effort  to  be  jocular  was  a  failure;  tears 
drowned  her  voice,  she  sat  down  on  a  settee,  pressed 
her  hand  on  her  face,  and  sobbed.  But  a  moment  and 
she  jumped  up  again. 

"No  womanly  weakness,  Primula,"  she  cried;  "we 
must  be  strong  now.  Drink,  friends,  drink ;  and  then 
out  into  the  dark  night  and  the  star-crowned  life!  " 

"Come,  Oswald,"  said  Emily,  who  stood  there  ready 
for  the  journey  ;  "  Mrs.  Jager  is  right ;  a  cup  of  tea  will 
do  no  harm,  and  a  few  minutes  more  or  less  can  make 
no  difference." 

"  I  wish  we  were  off,"  said  Oswald,  taking  the  cup  she 
was  offering  him  from  her  hand. 

He  had  hardly  uttered  these  words  when  somebody 
knocked  violently  against  the  shutter. 

All  looked  frightened  at  each  other. 

"  Hallo  !  "  cried  a  voice. 

"For  heaven's  sake!  That  is  Arthur!"  said  Emily. 
"  We  are  lost." 

"  Farewell,  my  friends  !  "  cried  Primula,  and  dashed 
into  the  adjoining  chamber,  after  having  in  vain  tried  to 
break  open  the  door  of  a  huge  wardrobe. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  old  woman.  "  We  are  not  so  easily 
caught  here  in  Ferrytown.     Not  a  word  !  " 

She  went  to  the  window  and  said,  "  Who  is  there  }  " 

"  Is  the  Baroness  Cloten  here .''  I  have  important  news 
for  her." 

The  old  woman  turned  round  and  whispered, 

"  Make  haste  and  get  away ;  I  will  try  to  keep  him 
here.     What  do  you  want  of  her  ?  " 

Oswald  and  Emily  did  not  hear  the  reply.  They 
slipped  stealthily,  holding  each  other's  hand,  through 
the  hall  to  the  back  door,  which  opened  upon  the  sea. 
A  flight  of  steps  led  down  to  the  beach.  Below  was  the 
sleigh.     Once  in  the  sleigh  they  were  safe. 


432  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Stay  behind  me,"  said  Oswald  when  they  came  to 
the  door. 

The  door  was  closed  by  an  iron  clasp.  Oswald 
opened  it  cautiously.  Everything  was  quiet.  The 
wintry  sky  looked  down  with  its  bright  stars. 

"  There  is  nobody  here,"  whispered  Oswald.    "  Come  !" 

They  had  no  sooner  stepped  out  than  the  door  was 
closed  violently  and  with  a  bang,  evidently  by  somebody 
who  had  been  standing  behind  it,  who  now,  as  if  to  cut 
off  the  retreat  of  the  fugitives,  was  leaning  against  it 
with  his  broad  shoulders. 

In  such  moments  the  mind  acts  promptly,  and  Oswald 
recognized  instantly  by  the  aid  of  the  starlight  and  the 
sheen  of  the  snow  that  the  broad-shouldered  form  before 
him  was  that  of  Baron  Barnewitz. 

"  We  are  betrayed,"  he  whispered ;  "  but  they  shall  pay 
for  it.     Quick  Emily,  step  into  the  sleigh  ;   I'll  follow." 

"But  not  just  now!"  said  Barnewitz,  leaping  upon 
Oswald,  and  seizing  him  by  the  shoulders  with  both 
hands. 

Oswald  tore  himself  away,  and  jumping  back  a  litile 
distance,  so  as  to  have  elbow-room,  he  seized  one  of  the 
iron-shod  pikes  which  the  fishermen  use  in  propelling 
their  sleds,  and  of  which  several  Avere  standing  in  tlie 
corner.  He  struck  his  adversary  with  it  so  terrible  a 
blow  that  the  latter,  in  spite  of  his  gigantic  size  and 
enormous  strength,  fell  down  without  uttering  a  sound. 

In  an  instant  Oswald  had  overtaken  Emily,  and  put- 
ting his  arm  around  her  waist  he  bore  her  down  the 
steep  steps. 

Below,  on  the  snow  of  the  narrow  beach,  stood  the 
sleigh. 

He  put  Emily  in  and  followed  her. 

"  We  are  betrayed,  Glaus,"  he  said  ;  "  drive  fast.  It  is 
a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

Clans  clacked  his  tongue  and  the  crop-cared  hack  went 
off. 

"  Thought  so  !  "  said  Claus,  turning  half  round.  "  A 
minute  ago  a  slcigli  came  and  stopped  not  a  hundred 
yards  from  here.  I  saw  two  men  get  out  and  climb  up 
the  bluff.     I  was  just  going  to  follow  them  and  to  warn 


ThfQugh  Night  to  Light.  433 

you,  when  yovi  were  coming'  out  at  the  door.  Now  it's  all 
right.  I  should  like  to  see  the  horses  that  can  overtake 
Claus  Lemberg  and  his  Fox." 

"  Vou  might  soon  have  that  satisfaction,"  said  Oswald, 
who  had  been  looking  behind;  "there  they  are  coming. 
It  seems  these  bulls  do  not  fall  at  one  blow,  and  want  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  a  bullet.  Where  is  the  box  I 
gave  you,  Claus .'  " 

"  Just  behind  you,  in  the  straw." 

Oswald  opened  the  box,  took  one  of  the  two  pistols 
that  were  in  it,  and  cocked  it. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Oswald,  what  are  you  going  to 
do  .''  "  said  Emily,  who  had  not  uttered  a  word  since 
they  were  in  the  sleigh. 

"  Slioot  down  the  first  man  who  dares  touch  you." 

"Oh,  God!  oh,  God!  " 

"  For  whom  do  you  tremble ;  for  me .''  or  for  him  ? 
You  have  time  yet.  He  will  forgive  you,  I  am  sure,  if 
you  turn  back  now  ; — perhaps  lecture  you  a  little  in 
Barnewitz's  presence." 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  1  I  turn  back  .'  Rather  dead 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea!  " 

"  That  may  come  too,"  murmured  Oswald. 

Oswald  thought  the  crop-eared  hack,  however  swiftly 
he  cut  with  his  rough-shod  shoes  into  the  ice,  could  cer- 
tainly not  long  keep  up  the  speed  so  as  to  escape  from 
the  two  thoroughbreds  before  the  sleigh  of  his  pursuers. 
He  had  a  start  of  a  few  thousand  yards,  but  that  could 
not  avail  much,  as  the  distance  from  Ferrytown  to  the 
village  of  Barow  was  over  a  mile.  There  they  were  to 
find  another  sleigh,  provided  by  one  of  Claus's  cousins, 
who  was  overseer  on  one  of  the  Breesen  estates,  and  ready 
to  do  and  to  risk  anything  in  the  world  for  jNIiss  Emily. 

"  Once  more,  Emily:  Avhat  do  you  want  me  to  do  if 
they  overtake  us.''  "  asked  Oswald,  bending  down  to  the 
little  woman,  who  sat  there  silently,  wrapped  up  in  her 
furs. 

"  Defend  yourself  like  a  man  !  " 

"  And  if  I  succumb .''  " 

"Then  I  jump  into  the  first  air-hole  we  meet  with  ! 
Better  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  than  in  his  power! " 
19 


434  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure?  " 

"  As  sure  as  I  live,  and  as  I  love  you." 

Oswald  bent  down  and  kissed  the  beautiful,  pale  face. 

*'  Now  it  is  all  right,"  he  said  ;  "  now  come  what  may." 
Those  were  terrible  minutes,  and  the  gloomy  surround- 
ings only  heightened  the  impressive  character  of  the 
situation.  All  was  perfectly  silent  around  them  ;  noth- 
ing was  heard  but  the  ceaseless  striking  of  hoofs  on  the 
ringing  ice,  and  that  peculiar  sound,  resembling  a  long- 
drawn  sigh,  which  is  produced  when  an  object  moves 
with  great  rapidity  over  a  plain  of  ice.  As  far  as  the 
eye  reached  nothing  but  the  fearful  solitude  of  a  plain 
covered  with  a  thin  layer  of  snow,  and  the  dark  night 
lowering  over  it  like  a  leaden  cover.  Even  the  stars 
were  now  hid  by  a  light,  drizzling  fog,  and  yet  it  began 
to  be  lighter  and  lighter  every  moment.  A  reddish  streak 
on  the  gray  sky  announced  the  rising  moon.  The  sleigh 
of  the  pursuers  could  already  be  seen  more  distinctly, 
like  a  great  black  spot,  which  grew  every  instant  greater 
and  blacker  as  the  light  on  the  sky  grew  brighter. 

Only  a  few  minutes  had  passed  since  they  had  left 
Ferrytown,  but  they  appeared  to  Oswald  an  eternity. 
He  looked  ahead  for  the  shore,  but  nothing  could  be  seen 
yet;  he  looked  behind  at  the  pursuers,  and  the  great 
black  spot  had  again  grown  larger  and  blacker. 

"  We  can't  do  it,  Glaus,"  said  Oswald. 

"What  will  you  bet,  sir.?"  replied  Claus.  "I  will 
eat  Fox  alive  if  he  does  not  win.  Why,  sir,  there  is  no 
such  horse  to  be  found  far  and  near.  We  are  some 
twenty  sleigh-owners  in  Ferrytown,  and  thirty  over  in 
Grunwald,  and  all  of  us  have  good  horses  in  our  sleighs, 
but  Fox  beats  them  all.     Eh,  Fox }  " 

And,  as  if  Fox  had  been  cheered  by  the  praise  of  his 
master,  he  shook  his  cropped  mane,  and  cut  with  his 
sharp  hoofs  faster  and  faster  into  the  clear  ice. 

"  But  those  are  uncommon  horses." 

Claus  laughed. 

"  And  that's  exactly  wh}'  I  don't  trouble  myself  They 
can't  stand  it;  and  then  they  are  afraid  of  the  air-holes. 
In  a  few  minutes  you  will  see  they  will  fall  behind,  or  I 
will  eat  Fox  alive." 


Thyough  Night  to  Light.  435 

Perhaps  Fox  was  afraid  of  the  terrible  fate  with  which 
he  was  threatened  if  he  should  allow  himself  to  be  over- 
taken, and  made  desperate  efforts ;  perhaps  Cloten's 
horses  began  really  to  be  tried  by  this  unusual  chase  on 
the  smooth  ice,  or  to  be  frightened  by  the  black  water 
of  the  air-holes  ;  at  all  events,  Claus's  prophecy  began 
to  become  true  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  uttered  it.  Al- 
though it  was  dawning  brighter  and  brighter  on  the 
horizon,  the  black  spot  became  perceptibly  smaller  and 
less  distinct ;  and  when  at  last  the  full  moon  rose  over 
the  gray  edge  of  the  ice,  and  poured  her  pale  light  over 
the  vast  level  plain,  the  black  spot  was  no  longer  to  be 
seen  on  the  white  surface. 

"  Well,  didn't  I  tell  you  1  "  asked  Claus,  turning 
round  and  showing  his  white  teeth,  "that  there  isn't  a 
horse  that  can  overtake  Fox  .''     Up,  Fox  !  " 

Claus  had  turned  round  towards  his  horse.  On,  on 
they  flew,  with  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow,  over  the  low 
thundering  abyss,  past  the  weird  glittering  of  waters, 
on  which  the  pale  moon  cast  an  uncanny  sheen.  The 
icy  north  wind  whistled  around  their  ears  as  it  swept 
mournfully  and  plaintively  over  the  snow-covered  fields. 
Oswald  and  Emily  held  each  other  in  close  embrace. 
Glad  to  have  escaped  the  danger,  they  enjoyed  the  bliss 
of  a  love  whose  sweet  flowers  they  were  gathering  on 
the  brink  of  a  fearful  abyss,  and  willingly  forgot  for  a 
few  moments  how  deep  that  abyss  was,  and  how  full  of 
unspeakable  horrors. 


CHAPTER    V. 

IT  was  March.     On  the  twenty-fourth  of  February  the 
Republic   had   been    proclaimed    in  France.     The 
grand  event  spread  its  effect  in  concentric  circles 
over  the  whole  of  the  civilized  earth.     The  capital,  also, 
had  been  excited,  and  a  feverish  agitation  prevailed  for 
a  few  days  already  in  all  circles  of  society — a  kind  of 


436  Through  Night  to  Light. 

confusion,  of  nervous  trembling,  such  as  befalls  men 
when  they  are  suddenly  roused  from  deep  sleep  by  a 
dazzling  light,  and  do  not  know  exactly  where  to  find 
their  head  ;  and  at  the  same  time  they  feel  a  secret  hor- 
ror of  the  night  in  Avhich  they  have  so  long  slept  an  un- 
natural sleep — a  confused  idea  that,  after  all,  the  golden 
light  of  the  sun  is  a  very  precious  thing ;  a  hopeful  ex- 
pectant stretching  and  moving  in  all  their  limbs,  so  that 
the  watchmen,  who  have  kept  and  guarded  the  gigantic 
sleeper  in  his  dreams,  become  anxious  to  begin  to  con- 
verse with  each  other.  "  We  will  have  to  put  him  in  iron 
chains,"  they  whisper,  "or  he  may  actually  rise ;  and 
then,  woe  unto  us  !  " 

There  was.  a  lively  time  one  fine  bright  evening  at 
the  "  Booths,"  the  principal  resort  of  respectable  citizens, 
who  were  in  the  habit  of  amusing  themselves  here  on 
Sunday  afternoons  with  wife  and  child  by  enjoying  a 
mixture  of  music,  beer,  and  sausages ;  but  any  one  who 
had  at  all  followed  the  events  of  the  last  days  in  the 
great  city  might  have  doubted  for  a  moment  whether 
this  was  a  political  meeting  or  a  popular  entertainment. 
Perhaps  it  meant  both.  Work,  that  strict  task-master, 
had  been  cheated  out  of  an  hour  only  ;  and  the  sim- 
ple fact  that  such  masses  were  here  assembled,  which 
no  police  constable  Avould  readily  dare  interrupt  or 
trouble,  aroused  in  the  assembled  crowds  a  sense  of  ex- 
uberant self-respect,  a  very  unusual  festive  excitement. 
Then  the  blue  sky  of  early  spring  looked  so  lovely;  the 
slender,  leafless  branches  and  twigs  of  the  trees  in  the 
park  were  so  clearly  defined  against  the  clear  back- 
ground, and  the  evening  sun  was  shining  warm  and 
hopeful  down  upon  the  thousands  who  crowded  the  vast 
open  space  between  the  coffee-houses  and  the  river  on 
one  side,  and  the  park  on  the  other  side.  The  pressure 
was  especially  great  near  the  wooden  stand  on  the  edge 
of  the  park,  which  was  ordinarily  occupied  by  a  band, 
but  from  whence  to-day  a  very  novel  kind  of  music  was 
heard — a  music  which  was  so  strange  to  the  people,  and 
perhaps  on  that  account  far  more  attractive  than  all  tlie 
waltzes  of  Larmer  or  Strauss.  Further  off,  towards  the 
coffee-houses,  where  the  speakers  could  no  longer  be 


Through  Night  to  Light.  437 

heard  distinctly,  people  seemed  to  be  merrier.  Here 
the  waiters  could  scarcely  hurry  up  as  many  glasses 
of  the  favorite  white  beer  as  thirsty  gullets  were  clam- 
oring for,  Itinerant  venders  offered  rolls  and  sau- 
sages, half-grown  boys  praised  their  cigars  with  gos- 
ling voices,  and  even  jugglers  and  acrobats  played  their 
tricks. 

Two  men  were  slowly  making  their  way  arm  in  arm 
through  the  heaving  crowd.  Their  appearance  was  sig- 
nally different  from  that  of  the  mass  of  the  people, 
Avhich  consisted,  mainly  of  men,  especially  young  men, 
of  the  lower  classes.  One  of  the  two  was  very  tall  and 
thin;  his  gray  eyes  looked  so  keen  and  bright  from  un- 
der the  heavy  brows,  and  around  the  well-shaped  straight 
nose  tliere  was  so  much  life  and  meaning,  that  one  could 
very  easily  supply  the  lower  part  of  the  face,  which  was 
completely  covered  with  a  close  black  beard.  His  car- 
riage was  careless,  like  that  of  a  man  who  is  too  busy 
with  his  thoughts  to  lay  much  stress  upon  external  forms; 
and  his  clothes,  which  were  made  after  the  last  fashion, 
and  of  the  very  best  material,  hung  so  easily  and  com- 
fortably on  his  spare  form  that  one  could  easily  see  the 
owner  believed  in  the  doctrine  that  clothes  were  made 
for  men,  and  not  men  for  clothes.  The  appearance  of 
his  companion  was  perhaps  even  rnore  striking.  He 
was  nearly  a  head  shorter  than  his  tall  friend,  bvit  much 
broader  in  the  shoulders.  And  yet  he  stooped  like  a 
man  who  has  spent  half  of  his  life  in  reading  books.  His 
large  well-shaped  brow,  and  his  deep,  meek,  dreamy 
eyes,  also  bespoke  the  scholar,  the  thinker.  His  hair, 
which  he  wore  rather  long,  was  already  nearly  gray,  and 
so  were  the  bushy  eyebrows,  and  the  beard,  which  flowed 
in  abundant  masses  from  cheeks,  lips,  and  chin,  down  to 
his  waist.  He  glanced  restlessly  at  the  crowd,  and  com- 
municated his  observations  to  his  companion  with  a  pas- 
sionate energy,  which  characterized  his  whole  manner; 
the  other  simply  smiling,  nodded  his  head,  or  replied  in 
a  few  short  words  to  the  point. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  it .''"  asked  the  man  of  the 
broad  shoulders. 

"  Not  so  badly,"  replied  the  tall  one. 


438  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  But  do  you  think  this  people  will  ever  dare  venture 
upon  a  revolution?" 

"  Why  not?" 

"  Look  at  these  stupid  faces,  listen  to  these  miserable 
jokes  with  which  they  try  to  drown  their  instinct  of  the 
grave  nature  of  the  situation,  and  the  painful  feeling  of 
their  own  insignificance.  See  how  the  people,  at  the  very 
hour  when  they  hear  liberty  and  justice  eloquently  dis- 
cussed, still  have  time  and  relish  for  panan  et  Hrcenses, 
and  you  see  enough  to  smother  the  last  spark  of  hope 
that  these  men  will  ever  talk  of  freedom,  much  less  fight 
for  it." 

"  You  are  still  a  pessimist,  Berger  !  and  in  spite  of  the 
golden  sunlight  which  at  last  shines  once  more  after  so 
many  dark  years  of  your  life." 

"  It  is  this  very  sunlight  which  fills  my  heart  with  such 
impatience.  During  the  gray  winter  days  we  think  it 
quite  natural  that  the  trees  raise  their  bare  branches  to 
the  sky;  but  when  the  first  balmy  air  of  spring  plays 
around  us,  and  the  sky  is  blue  once  more,  we  long  to  see 
the  green  ocean  of  leaves  twittering  and  rustling  in  the 
breeze ;  and  above  all,  when  the  winter  has  been  so 
long  and  so  hard  that  it  has  taken  all  our  strength  from 
us,  and  we  have  no  right  to  hope  to  live  into  summer  !  " 

"  The  dead  travel  fast !  You  have  seen  that  in 
Paris." 

"  At  that  moment  a  man  approached  them  who  had 
for  some  time  looked  at  the  two  gentlemen  as  if  he  did 
not  quite  trust  his  own  eyes,  and  said  to  Berger, 

"  Is  this  really  you,  professor?  " 

"  Why,  see  there  !  my  old  friend  !  "  replied  Berger,  let- 
ting go  Oldenburg's  arm,  and  offering  his  hand  to  the 
new-comer.     "  How  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  "  said  the  man,  "  that  is  a  sad  story.  If  you 
will  come  with  me  a  little  way — I  would  rather  speak  to 
you  alone." 

"  Excuse  me  a  moment,"  said  Berger  to  Oldenburg, 
and  went  aside  with  the  man. 

Oldenburg  looked  at  the  latter  not  without  astonish- 
ment. His  was  a  powerful  bod}-,  with  a  broad,  well- 
developed  chest  and  long  arms,  while  the  head  appeared 


Through  Night  to  Light.  439 

not  less  massive.  In  the  coarse,  bloated  features  one 
might  read,  by  the  side  of  much  good-nature,  and  jovial 
humor  also,  not  a  little  cunning,  but  of  perfectly  harmless 
nature.  To  judge  by  his  appearance  the  man  was  not 
exactly  well-to-do.  His  gray  felt  hat  had  evidently  seen 
many  a  stormy  day  before  it  had  been  reduced  to  its 
forlorn  condition.  The  black  velvet  coat,  very  shabby, 
and  covered  with  rusty-looking  frogs,  had  evidently 
seen  better  days ;  so  also  the  large  linen  trousers,  the 
color  of  which  was  not  easily  distinguished,  and  the 
boots,  which  began  to  burst  in  a  threatening  manner. 
A  red-silk  handkerchief,  boldly  twisted  around  the  sun- 
burnt, muscular  neck,  completed  the  expression  of  re- 
duced artistic  merit  which  the  whole  person  bore  in  all 
its  features. 

Berger  spoke  a  few  minutes  earnestly  with  the  man; 
then  they  went  a  little  further  aside,  and  Oldenburg's 
sharp  eye  saw  how  Berger  pulled  out  his  purse  and 
pressed  a  few  pieces  of  money  in  the  hands  of  the 
stranger.  Then  they  separated  ;  the  man  disappeared  in 
the  crowd,  the  professor  came  back. 

"  Who  Avas  that  strange  person.?" 

"  A  man  of  whom  I  have  often  spoken  to  you :  Di- 
rector Caspar  Schmenckel,  of  Vienna." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Oldenburg;  "  why  did  you  not  tell 
me  so  at  once."  I  should  like  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  a  man  with  whom  Czika  has  lived  so  long." 

"  He  will  call  upon  us  in  a  few  days.  The  poor  man 
is  in  despair  since  Xenobia  and  Czika  have  left  him;  he 
has  met  with  nothing  but  misfortune.  First,  his  clown 
died  ;  then  his  first  artist  ran  away;  and  the  others  he  has 
been  compelled  to  dismiss  on  account  of  chronic  want 
of  money.  Now  he  lounges  about  in  all  the  inns  o*f  the 
city,  and  gives  performances  on  his  own  account." 

"  We  must  take  care  of  him,"  said  Oldenburg.  "  He 
has  treated  Czika  well,  and  I  am  under  obligations  to 
him.  Besides,  he  seems  to  be  a  good  fellow.  13ut  let  us 
go  home.  The  thing  here  comes  to  nothing,  as  I  ex- 
pected, at  least  for  to-day." 

As  the  two  friends  were  leaving,  a  young  man  had 
just  gone  up  on  the  stand  and  demanded  to  speak.     He 


44°  Through  Night  to  Light. 

was  of  a  coarse,  thick-set  figure,  but  the  handsome,  well- 
shaved  face  was  fall  of  life  and  cleverness;  and  as  he 
now  took  off  his  hat,  brushed  his  long  light  hair  from 
his  white,  well-shaped  forehead,  he  looked  more  like  a 
precocious  boy  who  has  put  on  spectacles  for  fun,  than 
like  a  man  who  has  a  right  to  address  thousands.  If 
the  finely-cut  features  had  something  aristocratic,  his 
more  than  modest  costume  placed  him  far  from  the 
privileged  classes.  His  voice  was  peculiarly  high  and 
sharp  and  clear,  and  when  he  became  more  animated 
it  sounded  somewhat  like  the  clang  of  a  trumpet,  so  that 
it  could  be  heard  all  over  the  large  square  to  the  furthest 
corner. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  and  a  smile  of  irony  played 
around  his  lips,  "what  would  you  say  of  a  man  who  has 
a  pointed  arrow  in  his  quiver,  and  the  strongest  bow  to 
shoot  that  arrow  ;  and  who,  nevertheless,  is  good-natured 
enough  to  send  the  sharp  arrow,  not  by  means  of  the 
strong  bow,  but  with  his  feeble  hand  1  Well,  gentle- 
men, we  are  exactly  like  that  foolish  man.  The  arrow 
in  the  quiver  is  the  petition  with  the  nine  articles,  as 
we  modestly  call  the  just  demands  of  a  nation  ;  the 
deputation  chosen  from  among  us,  which  is  to  present 
the  address  to-morrow  to  the  king,  is  the  feeble  hand. 
How  far  will  it  send  the  arrow  .•*  To  the  threshold  of 
the  king's  palace — no  further !  I  tell  you,  gentlemen, 
the  feeble  hand  of  the  deputation  will  in  vain  knock  at 
the  gate.  His  majesty  will  be  graciously  pleased  to 
refuse  accepting  our  petition,  and  the  deputation  will 
return  Avithout  having  accomplished  anything." 

When  the  orator  had  finished  the  phrase,  raising  his 
voice  very  high,  a  murmur  passed  through  the  assembly 
not  unlike  a  violent  gust  of  wind  that  sweeps  over  the 
sea.  A  few  cried  "bravo  !  "  among  them  the  gentleman 
in  the  shabby  velvet  coat,  who  had  pushed  his  way  close 
to  the  platform,  and  wlio  had  listened  to  tlie  speaker 
with  great  delight,  which  he  tried  to  express  by  nods, 
grunts,  and  more  violent  applause.  The  majority,  how- 
ever, was  evidently  opposed  to  energetic  measures.  For 
one  who  cried  bravo,  there  were  a  hundred  who  shook 
their  heads  and  whispered  their  misgivings. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  441 

The  young  man  was  not  intimidated  by  these  signs 
of  dissatisfaction.     He  repeated  with  great  emphasis, 

"  The  deputation  will  return  without  having  accom- 
plished anything  !  And  it  serves  us  right.  Why  do 
we  use  the  hand,  when  the  bow  lies  idle  in  the  grasp,  close 
by  us }  Do  you  want  to  know  Avho  the  bow  is .?  We 
are  the  bow ;  I  mean  the  whole  assembly.  If  we  went 
four,  five,  or  six  thousand,  as  many  as  we  are  here,  in 
close  phalanx,  and  carried  the  petition,  our  speaker 
ahead,  up  to  the  palace,  I  should  like  to  see  the  gates 
that  would  not  open,  the  menials  who  would  refuse  to 
admit  us,  the  chamberlain  who  would  dare  to  say  :  Gen- 
tlemen, his  majesty  is  at  tea,  and  cannot  see  you." 

"  Bravo  !  bravo !  "  cried  the  gentleman  in  the  velvet 
coat,  and  clapping  his  hands  furiously  But  the  crowd  was 
not  at  all  pleased  with  this  humorous  way  of  treating  so 
serious  a  matter.  They  hissed  and  whistled  and  cried 
from  all  sides.  It  was  only  with  great  difficulty  that 
the  president,  a  man  in  a  broad-brimmed  hat  and  with 
a  long  beard,  who  looked  somewhat  like  an  author, 
could  restore  peace  by  repeatedly  knocking  with  his 
cane  on  the  table.  The  orator,  quite  unconcerned,  gath- 
ered the  whole  strength  of  his  clear  voice,  and  trumpeted 
down  upon  the  assembly  : 

"  I  have  not  offered  the  resolution  to  proceed  in  a 
body  to  the  palace  because  I  expected  it  to  be  adopted, 
but  simply  in  order  to  show  you  what  manner  of  men 
you  are.  Pioneers  of  freedom,  my  predecessor  called 
you.  Yes,  indeed  !  Freedom  will  be  much  benefited  by 
you,  if  you  are  not  even  now  able  to  rouse  yourself 
from  the  sleepy  confidence  in  which  you  have  rested 
these  thirty  years " 

Whatever  else  the  young  man  said  could  not  be 
heard,  for  the  last  words  had  brought  down  the  storm 
which  had  been  brewing  for  some  time.  "  Down  with 
him !  "  cried  those  who  stood  nearest ;  "  Knock  him 
down  !  "  those  at  a  distance. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  the  last  threat  would  have 

been  carried  out  by  the  insulted  men  if  the  powerful 

man   in  the  velvet  coat  had   not  embraced  the  orator 

enthusiastically  as  soon  as  he  came  down  from  the  plat- 

iq* 


442  Through  Night  to  Light. 

Form,  declaring  himself  thus  openly  his  friend  and  pro- 
tector. No  one  seemed  to  desire  engaging  in  a  fight 
with  a  man  of  such  herculean  build  ;  at  least  they 
allowed  the  two  to  leave  the  assembly  unmolested,  in 
spite  of  the  striking  minority  in  which  they  had  found 
themselves. 

The  new  friends  turned  into  one  of  the  avenues  which 
lead  near  the  stand  from  the  open  space  of  the  "  Booths  " 
into  the  park.  As  soon  as  they  were  alone  the  man  in 
the  velvet  coat  once  more  shook  hands  with  the  young 
man  of  the  light  hair,  and  said,  with  great  cordiality, 

"  I  am  exceedingly  delighted  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  such  a  capital  fellow." 

"  So  am  I !  So  am  I  !  "  replied  the  young  man,  ex- 
amining his  admirer  with  a  quick,  sharp  glance  from 
his  blue  eyes,  and  pushing  his  spectacles  with  his  finger 
higher  up  on  his  nose  in  order  to  be  the  better  able  to 
do  so.     "  With  whom  have  I  the  honor  1  " 

The  gentleman  in  the  velvet  coat  stepped  back,  threw 
his  chest  out,  lifted  his  much-tried  hat,  and  said, 

"  I  am  Director  Caspar  Schmenckel,  from  Vienna." 

"Ah,"  replied  the  other,  lightly;  "glad  to  make  your 
acquaintance.     My  name  is  Timm,  Albert  Timm." 

"  You  are  not  an  artist .''  "  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  con- 
fidentially. 

"  How  so  .''  "  asked  Mr.  Timm,  evasively. 

Director  Schmenckel  imitated  the  gesture  of  one  who 
throws  a  very  heavy  object  with  both  hands  straight 
up  in  the  air,  in  order  to  let  it  fall  again  upon  the  neck. 

"Aha!  "  said  Mr.  Timm,  who  quickly  understood  in 
which  region  of  the  fine  arts  the  director  had  been 
gathering  his  laurels ;  "  pardon  me  that  I  was  not  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  a  man  of  your  distinction  ;  but 
I  have  only  been  here  a  few  days." 

"  Well,  I  thought  so,"  replied  Mr.  Schmenckel,  as 
they  proceeded  arm  in  arm.  "You  are  a  noble  fellow; 
very  different  from  these  poor  creatures  hereabouts. 
You  speak  as  you  think  ;  as  you  feel  in  your  heart.  Cas- 
par Schmenckel  likes  such  fellows,  and  if  he  can  be  of 
any  service  to  you  say  the  word  and  it's  done." 

"  Much   obliged,    director.      Delighted    to   have   the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  443 

honor  of  your  acquaintance.  I  presume  you  are  per- 
forming here  in  the  capital  with  your  troupe  ?  " 

"Performing? — Hem!  hem!"  said  Mr.  Schmenckel, 
clearing  his  throat.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  you  do  not  see 
Director  Schmenckel  just  now  ///  floribus.  I  have  been 
compelled  by  many  reasons  to  disband  my  old  troupe, 
and  I  am  just  now  engaged  in  forming  a  new  one — a 
task  which  has  its  difficulties,  as  you  may  imagine.  In 
the  meantime " 

"You  are  living  in  private .-*  " 

"  In  a  certain  way,  yes ;  that  is  to  say,  I  perform  from 
time  to  time  before  a  few  friends ;  but,  you  know,  only 
to  keep  my  hand  in,  that  is  all." 

"  Of  course." 

"  Thus  I  am  in  a  certain  way  engaged  to  perform 
to-night  in  a  very  noble  locality,  where  I  meet  the  very 
best  society  ;  and  if  you  will  do  me  the  honor " 

"You  are  very  kind." 

"You  will  find  very  nice  people  there;  perfectly  free 
and  easy;  all  of  them  democrats  to  the  core,  although 
they  drink  prodigiously  little  water,  I  should  think. 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  I  have  been  a  daily  guest  at  the  '  Dismal 
Hole  '  ever  since  the  winter  began,  and  yet  I  have  never 
liked  it  so  well  as  since  we  have  gotten  a  new  landlady. 
She  has  been  there  about  a  week." 

"Indeed!  " 

"  I  shall  be  proud  to  make  you  acquainted  with  her. 
Mrs.  Rose  Pape  is  a  model  of  a  woman." 

"  What  did  you  say .?  "  suddenly  asked  Mr.  Timm,  with 
great  animation. 

"  I  said  Mrs.  Rose  Pape  is  a  capital  woman." 

"  Did  you  not  say  she  had  taken  the  business  quite 
lately  1  " 

"  Yes ;  for  she  used  to  be  a  midwife.  The  French 
revolution  has  made  her  an  innkeeper." 

"  That  is  original." 

"Isn't  it.'  But  then  Mrs.  Rose  is  an  original,  too. 
She  has  a  wonderful  knack  for  business;  and  when  the 
trouble  commenced  in  Paris,  she  said:  'Now  golden 
days  are  coming  for  beer-houses  with  female  waiters! ' 
The  next  day  she  had  rented  the  '  Dismal  Hole.'  " 


444  ThrougJi  Night  to  Light. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  anxious  to  n:iake  the  acquaintance 
of  the  excellent  lady." 

During  this  conversation  the  friends  had  followed 
little  frequented  paths  in  the  park,  and  were  now  near 
the  magnificent  gate  which  leads  on  this  side  straight 
from  the  park  into  the  city.  The  crowd  at  the  Booths 
must  have  dissolved  immediately  after  they  had  left  it, 
for  the  head  of  an  immense  procession  coming  from  that 
direction  had  just  reached  the  gate.  Here  they  met 
the  crowd  that  were  still  coming  from  the  city  into  the 
park.  It  could  not  be  avoided  ;  the  crowds  met  and 
filled  the  narrow  passages  of  the  great  gate  immedi- 
ately before  the  guard-house,  where  a  company  of  sol- 
diers was  standing  with  arms  grounded.  The  people 
gazed  and  wondered  at  the  unusual  sight.  Others 
pushed  their  way  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  In  an 
instant  the  guard-house  was  surrounded  by  hundreds  of 
men  standing  in  a  semi-circle,  which  was  steadily  grow- 
ing smaller  and  smaller.  The  captain  in  command  of 
the  company,  a  tall  officer  with  a  savage  expression  in 
his  sharply-marked  features,  cast  furious  glances  at  the 
multitude,  but  did  not  deign  to  say  a  word.  It  was 
easy  to  see  what  was  going  on  in  his  soul.  Suddenly 
he  gave  an  order  with  an  angrily-shrill  voice  :  ''  Atten- 
tion !    Eyes  right!    Shoulder  arms  !    Attention!    Load!" 

The  ramrods  rattled,  and  in  an  instant  the  order  was 
obeyed. 

It  had  been  intended  as  a  warning  merely  for  the 
crowd ;  but,  as  it  will  happen  in  such  cases,  it  produced 
exactly  the  opposite  effect  to  what  had  been  intended. 
Those  who  stood  nearest  could  not  move  back,  and 
those  behind  had  only  become  more  curious  to  know 
what  the  noise  of  the  ramrods  meant.  A  fatal  encoun- 
ter between  the  soldiers  and  the  people  seemed  una- 
voidable. 

Just  then  a  tall  man  pushed  his  way  between  the  idlers 
and  walked  up  to  the  captain. 

"  Allow  me  to  say  a  word  to  you." 

"  What  do  you  want.''  " 

"  My  name  is  Oldenburg.  I  have  the  honor  to  ad- 
dress Count  Grieben.''  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  445 

The  officer  touched  his  helmet  to  salute.  "  Glad  to 
see  you  as^ain,  baron,  after  so  many  years.  Come  in 
time;  shall  be  compelled  to  fire  upon  the  rabble." 

"  It  was  to  prevent  that  that  I  begged  leave  to  intro- 
duce myself.  You  have  a  simple  and  infallible  means 
to  induce  these  people  to  move  on,  and  thus  to  pre- 
vent an  irreparable  calamity." 

"  What  is  that.^  " 

"  Let  your  men  retire  into  the  guard-house." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of !  to  make  such  a  con- 
cession to  the  rabble  .''     Besides,  it  is  against  orders." 

"  Then  summon  the  people,  at  least,  to  go  home." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  open  negotiations  with  the  cra- 
piile." 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  do  so  1  " 

"  As  you  like,"  replied  the  officer,  leaving  Olden- 
burg with  cold  politeness. 

Oldenburg  advanced  a  few  steps  towards  the  close 
semi-circle  and  said,  speaking  as  loud  as  he  could, 

"  Gentlemen,  you  are  in  some  danger  if  you  remain 
standing  here.  Many  of  you  have  been  in  the  army,  and 
know  that  the  soldier  has  to  obey  orders,  and  no  ques- 
tions allowed.  Don't,  therefore,  force  your  fellow-citi- 
zens, who  are  here  under  arms,  to  turn  against  you. 
Let  us  avail  ourselves  of  our  right  to  go  wliere  we  choose 
to  go.  It  is. a  bore  to  remain  standing  so  long  on  the 
same  spot." 

"  He  is  right,"  said  a  square-shouldered  citizen  from 
the  head  of  the  crowd.     "I  will  begin  to  scatter  off!  " 

The  people  laughed.  And  as  the  shrill  voice  of  a 
cigar-dealer  began  to  sing,  "  Move  slowly,  slowly,  good 
Austrians,  now  !  "  the  dense  crowd  gradually  got  into 
motion,  especially  as  at  that  moment  cries  and  other 
poises  arose  in  a  different  direction  and  attracted  the 
curious  among  them. 

Some  distance  higher  up  the  Lindens — for  Unter  den 
Linden  is  the  name  of  tlie  superb  street  which  leads 
from  the  gate  to  the  palace — a  collision  had  taken  place 
between  the  people  and  one  of  tlie  numerous  patrols 
who  liad  been  marching  up  and  down  for  some  hours 
now  between  the  palace  and  the  gate.     Unfortunately 


446  Through  Night  td  Light. 

there  had  been  no  Oldenburg  here  to  interfere  and  pre- 
vent the  mischief.  The  commander  of  the  patrol — a 
second  detachment  was  marching  on  a  level  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  street — was  an  officer  of  gigantic  stat- 
ure, whose  dark,  threatening  mein  announced  the  firm 
determination  to  punish  the  slightest  resistance  instantly 
and  without  mercy.  Everybody  had  so  timidly  given 
way  before  him,  as  he  marched  down  at  the  head  of  his 
men,  that  he  seemed  to  be  justified  in  smiling  contempt- 
uously whenever  such  an  event  occurred.  But  now  he 
came  to  a  place  where  a  narrow  but  much  frequented 
side  street  opened  upon  the  Lindens.  This  passage  was 
crammed  full  of  people,  who  wanted  to  see  what  was 
going  on  in  the  main  street.  From  the  Lindens  others 
came  who  wished  to  go  down  that  passage.  Thus  an 
immense  mass  of  people  had  been  crowded  together  here, 
and  the  confusion,  great  as  it  was,  became  still  more 
awkward,  when  the  patrol  marched  straight  down  upon 
them. 

"  Make  way  !  "  ordered  the  officer,  marching  into  the 
crowd  without  looking  right  or  left. 

Those  who  stood  nearest  gave  way  to  the  side,  but 
others  pressed  back  upon  them.  A  short  confusion 
arose,  during  which  the  officer  was  cut  off"  from  his  men. 

"Make  way!-"  repeated  the  officer,  in  still  harsher 
tones. 

"Make  way  yourself!"  cried  a  young  man  in  the 
crowd. 

He  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  than  the  officei 
rushed  upon  him,  seized  him  by  the  collar  and  tossed 
him,  by  a  slight  effort  of  his  powerful  arm,  into  the 
midst  of  his  men,  saying  : 

"  Arrest  the  rascal  !  " 

The  soldiers  seized  the  young  man,  who  tried  in  vain 
to  free  himself 

"  Knock  the  dog  down  if  he  resists  !  "  cried  the  officer. 

Who  knows  but  the  soldiers  would  have  done  his 
bidding  if  at  that  moment  Mr.  Schmcnckel  had  not 
suddenly  appeared  before  the  officer,  crying  out : 

"  Let  the  man  go,  your  excellency,  or  ten  thou- 
sand  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  447 

The  officer  of  the  Life  Guards  and  the  man  of  the 
people  stood  a  few  moments  opposite  each  other,  both 
of  them  men  of  gigantic  size,  surprisingly  alike  in  their 
tall  figure,  their  full  chest  and  ample  shovdders,  with 
long,  muscular  arms ;  yes,  as  they  stared  at  each  other 
with  fierce  passion,  there  was  some  resemblance  even  in 
the  massive,  coarse  features. 

But  it  was  only  a  moment  during  which  they  stood 
thus;  at  the  next  moment  the  officer  had  hit  the  man 
with  all  his  strength  upon  his  chest  in  order  to  gain 
room  to  draw  his  sword.  But  he  might  as  well  have 
moved  a  rock  from  its  place  as  the  man  in  the  velvet- 
coat.  Tlie  blow  sounded  dull  on  the  broad  chest — that 
was  all;  but  at  the  same  time  the  man  extended  his 
powerful  arms,  seized  the  officer  around  the  waist,  lifted 
him  sheer  from  the  ground,  and  threw  him  with  such 
violence  against  the  soldiers,  wlio  had  their  hands  full 
in  holding  the  young  man,  that  officer,  men,  and  pris- 
oner all  roiled  together  in  a  heap. 

"  Hurrah !  "  cried  the  delighted  crowd,  admiring  the 
display  of  physical  strength.  "  Hurrah !  At  them ! 
Down  vv'ith  the  soldiers!  " 

Mr.  Schmenckel  probably  did  not  expect  much  as- 
sistance from  the  courage  of  the  crowd.  He  drew  the 
prisoner  with  one  great  effort  from  out  of  the  confused 
heap  of  men,  and  before  the  officer  could  regain  his 
feet  both  had  disappeared  in  the  crowd,  who  readily 
opened  to  let  them  pass. 

It  was  liigh  time,  for  the  two  detachments  had  been 
able  in  the  meantime  to  break  through  the  crowd  and 
to  unite  their  forces. 

The  officer  started  up  and  ordered  with  a  voice 
shrieking  with  rage:  "To  the  left!  March!  March! 
Lower  bayonets  !     Charge  !  " 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  "  cried  the  soldiers,  pressing  with 
lowered  bayonets  into  the  crowd.  The  people  scattered, 
crying  and  howling. 


448  Through  Night  to  Light. 


CHAPTER     VI. 

WHILE  such  scenes  were  taking  place,  Unter  den 
Linden  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  adjoining 
streets  felt  a  feverish  excitement,  so  that  the 
crowd  scattered  at  the  mere  sight  of  an  approaching 
force,  merely  however  to  reassemble  at  another  momen- 
tarily safe  point,  and  arrests  were  made  in  large  numbers. 
The  inhabitants  of  distant  parts  of  the  city  dwelt  in 
profound  peace,  utterly  ignorant  of  what  was  going  on 
elsewhere,  and  enjoying  the  calm  monotony  of  an  idyllic 
country  village. 

In  a  small  one-story  house  in  one  of  these  quiet  streets, 
which  derived,  from  a  garden  before  the  door  and  a 
slight  iron  railing  between  the  garden  and  the  gate,  some- 
what of  the  appearance  of  a  villa,  there  sat  just  before  sun- 
set two  persons  in  eager  conversation.  A  little  aquarium 
with  gold-fish  stood  near  the  Avindow,  a  bright  cage 
with  canary  bird  hung  between  the  curtains,  and  flowers 
were  seen  all  about  in  pots  and  in  vases,  so  that  everything 
bespoke  the  presence  of  a  lady,  although  the  inevitable 
work-stand  was  not  to  be  seen.  The  man  was  not  exactly 
young,  although  even  the  bald  places  at  the  temples 
would  hardly  have  justified  any  one  from  calling  him 
old ;  the  lady  Avas  much  younger.  They  conversed 
eagerly,  like  two  good  friends  who  have  not  seen  each 
other  for  months,  while  in  the  interval  events  have  hap- 
pened of  the  greatest  importance  for  both,  which  indeed 
may  be  said  to  have  inaugurated  a  new  epoch  in  their 
lives. 

"  And  Franz  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  position 
here.?  " 

"  Perfectly !  How  pa  would  have  been  delighted,  if 
he " 

The  young  lady  did  not  end  the  sentence,  but  turned 
towards  the  window  and  busied  herself  with  the  flowers. 
The  gentleman  looked  at  her  kindly  through  the  glasses 
he  wore,  and  after  a  while  he  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  her 
arm  and  said : 


ThroHgJi  Night  to  Light.  449 

"  You  must  not  only  appear  firm,  mv  dear  friend  ;  you 
must  be  so  ; — you,  the  daughter  of  such  a  father  !  " 

"  You  are  right,  Bemperly  ;  I  will  try  to  be  as  firm 
and  as  reasonable  as  I  look.  But  now  let  us  speak  of 
something  else.  ^Vhat  does  Marguerite  say  to  our  new 
plan  ?  " 

"  She  is  delighted — or  chaniiee,  as  she  says.  But  I  think 
it  is  less  because  our  position  will  be  better — although, 
quite  critre  nous,  a  married  student  is  a  very  remarkably 
amphibious  creature — as  because  she  will  be  able  to  be 
near  you  again.  You  do  not  know  what  an  impression 
you  have  made  on  ma  petite  feiiunc." 

"  She  is  so  kind-hearted  !  And  I  have  done  so  little 
for  her ;  been  able  to  do  so  little  for  her  !  I  have,  properly 
speaking,  done  nothing  but  tease  her.  Even  that  last 
evening — you  recollect  Bemperlcin,  when  you  appeared 
as  author — when  you  kissed  each  other  in  the  bay-win- 
dow, when  we  drank  the  old  hock,  and  pa  afterwards 
held  his  grand  speech,  the  last  I  ever  heard  from  his 
lips.  Now  only  I  know  what  it  was  that  moved  him 
so  deeply.  He  took  leave  of  us,  not  only  for  the  mo- 
ment, but  forever." 

Sophie  tried  to  master  the  emotion  which  threatened 
to  overcome  her,  and  then  she  continued  : 

"  I  have  done  so  little  for  Marguerite,  and  she  has  done 
so  much  for  me !  Do  you  know,  Bemperlein,  that  I 
Avas  weak  enough  to  become  quite  jealous  of  the  little 
one  when  I  saw,  in  papa's  letters,  how  very  fond  he  was 
of  her,  and  how  he  disliked  the  idea  of  your  getting 
married  even  more  than  our  own  marriage  .''  " 

"  And  yet  it  was  only  by  his  assistance  that  we  were 
able  to  marry ;  at  least  Marguerite  is  indebted  to  him 
alone  for  her  trousseau  and  the  furnishing  of  our  house, 
both  of  which  would  otherwise  have  been  almost  out  of 
the  question.     You  know,  I  am  sure,  what  I  mean  !  " 

"  The  Timm  affair  !  Marguerite  wrote  me  about  it. 
\Vhat  amazed  me  most  was,  tliat  Timm  should  have  re- 
turned the  money  so  promptly." 

"  We  were  all  astonished ;  no  one  more  so  than  I,  who 
knew  best  how  overwhelmed  he  was  with  debts — a  fact 
which  led  me  to  dissuade   your  father   earnestly  from 


45  o  Thrmigh  Night  to  Light. 

making  a  useless  effort.  The  whole  affair  has  caused 
me,  e}itre  nous,  a  good  deal  of  heart-ache ;  and  little 
reason  as  I  have  to  like  Mr.  Timm,  I  have  still  been 
quite  sorry  when  I  heard  soon  afterwards  of  his  being 
sent  to  jail.  He  was  unable,  it  seems,  to  pay  a  note 
long  since  due,  and  perhaps  only  because  he  had  paid 
us.     For  all  I  know,  he  is  a  prisoner  still." 

"What!"  said  Sophie,  "has  my  old  admirer  really 
come  to  that  at  last .''" 

"  Your  old  admirer  V 

"  Yes;  don't  you  know  it  ?  I  went  to  the  same  danc- 
ing master  as  Timm  ;  and  I  can  well  say  that  I  liked  him 
best  of  all  with  whom  I  talked  or  danced.  He  is  an 
extremely  clever  man,  and  can  be  most  agreeable  when 
he  chooses  to  be  so.  I  am  sincerely  sorry  that  he  should 
manage  his  great  talents  so  very  badly.  He  resembles 
in  that  respect " 

"  Oswald  Stein,  you  mean.  \Vell,  say  on.  I  have 
fortunately  mastered  the  feeling  of  bitterness  which 
used  to  overcome  me  in  Grunwald  every  time  I  heard 
the  name  mentioned.  He  does  not  exist  any  longer,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  especially  after  his  last  adven- 
tures." 

"  That  is  hardly  right,  Bemperly.  You  know  I  never 
liked  Stein  particularly;  but  since  you  all  rise  in  arms 
against  him,  and  since  even  Franz,  who  used  to  excuse 
him  so  long,  begins  to  chime  in,  I  have  a  great  inclina- 
tion to  take  his  part." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Bemperlein,  with  a  slight  touch  of 
bitterness  ;  "  that  is  the  old  story.  Women  like  a  man 
the  better,  the  worse  he  is.  Even  my  Marguerite,  who 
generally  cannot  bear  him,  breathed  the  other  day  a 
paiivre  homme  in  her  softest  notes!  Paitvre  homme !  T 
should  like  to  know  what  sensible  man  would  think  so 
of  him.  If  a  man  rushes  madly  through  life,  acting  not 
upon  principle  but  upon  impulse;  if  he  must  needs 
gratify  all  his  caprices,  and  if  he  meets  with  difiicultics 
breaks  out  in  furious  anger  ;  if,  instead  of  loving  his 
neighbor  like  himself,  he  runs  away  by  night  with  his 
neighbor's  wife — they  say  of  him,  with  tears  of  sympa- 
thy in  their  fair  eyes  :  Pauvre  homme  !  " 


Through  Nizht  to  Lkhf. 


451 


"  Bravo,  Bemperl)',"  cried  Sophie,  almost  with  her  old 
cheerfulness  ;  "  bravo!  You  could  not  preach  better  if 
you  were  yourself  the  happy  neighbor !  But  tell  me, 
has  no  one  heard  anything  yet  of  the  reckless  couple  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  I  know,  no  one  ?  The  earth  seems  to  have 
swallowed  them  up." 

"  But  how  does  the  unlucky  husband  bear  his  mis- 
fortune ?  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Bemperlein,  almost  angrily,  "  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  sympathize  with  that  class  of  people. 
They  deserve  nothing  better,  and  reap  what  they  sow. 
Just  think,  Miss  Sophie — I  meant  to  say  Airs.  Sophie — 
this  man,  this  Cloten,  who,  Avhen  Stein  had  ran  away 
Avith  Ills  wife,  behaved  himself  as  if  he  never  cared  to 
see  the  sun  shine  any  more,  not  only  found  comfort  in  a 
very  short  time,  but  has  inflicted  the  same  injury  on  his 
neighbor's  house  that  he  himself  suffered.  Baron  Barne- 
witz,  Frau  von  Berkow's  cousin — the  one  with  the  red 
beard,  you  know,  and  the  broad  shoulders.  Oh,  you 
must  have  seen  him.  No  .''  Well,  it  does  not  matter — 
eh  bien.  Baron  Barnewitz  comes  home  the  other  day  at 
an  unseasonable  hour  and  finds — so  gossip  has  it — the 
door  to  his  wife's  room  locked,  suspects  mischief,  breaks 
a  window,  pulls  out  the  whole  sash,  rushes  into  the  room 
and  catches  Baron  Cloten,  whom  his  wife  is  just  push- 
ing out  at  another  door  !  Then  follows  an  explanation  ; 
and  the  result  is  that  Hortense  has  gone  to  Italy,  and 
Baron  Cloten,  after  keeping  his  bed  for  a  week,  has  re- 
tired to  his  estates  without  taking  leave  of  anybody." 

"  What  a  treasure  trove  that  must  have  been  for  the 
good  gossips  of  Grunwald  !  " 

"  You  may  believe  it ;  almost  as  great  as  when  Helen 
Grcnwitz  became  engaged  to  Prince  Waldenberg." 

"  How  is  tliat  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  I  know,  the  solemn  betrothal — I  mean  the 
official  ceremony — is  to  be  celebrated  here  in  the  city  in 
a  few  days.  Anna  Maria  told  me  recently  that  Helen 
would  be  here  at  the  beginning  of  March." 

"  Then  you  are  still  keeping  up  your  relations  with 
the  family.''  " 

"  I  could  not  well  find  an  excuse  for  giving  up  the 


452  Through  Night  to  Light. 

lessons.  Anna  Maria  honored  me  all  the  time  with  her 
special  favor;  and,  besides,  I  have  recently  become  better 
reconciled  with  her  ways.  I  believe  we  have  wronged 
her  in  many  points.  She  has  her  very  objectionable 
sides,  no  doubt;  but,  if  we  wish  to  be  just,  we  must  ac- 
knowledge also  that  her  position  is  a  very  peculiar  one. 
If  she  procures  Helen  a  rich  husband,  she  does  after  all 
only  what  every  mother  in  her  position  would  do  like- 
wise. And  her  circumstances  are  by  no  means  as  bril- 
liant as  they  think.  Since  her  husband's  death  she  has 
nothing  but  a  comparatively  small  annuity  and  the  in- 
come from  what  she  may  have  saved,  but  the  whole 
amounts  to  very  little  in  comparison  with  her  former 
revenue.  And  if  Malte  should  follow  his  cousin  Felix's 
example,  and  die  of  consumption,  she  would  lose  even 
that — and  the  poor  fellow  looks  shocking;  he  is  nothing 
but  skin  and  bones." 

"  Ah,"  said  Sophie ;  "  why,  then  Helen's  marriage  is 
almost  a  kind  of  necessity  in  the  meaning  of  these  peo- 
ple, although  I  am  convinced  it  must  be  a  very  sad  ne- 
cessity for  Helen." 

"Why.?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  in  confidence.  I  think  she  had  given 
her  heart  to  somebody  else  when  she  accepted  the 
prince.  Would  to  God  she  had  been  less  reserved  to- 
wards me,  perhaps  it  would  all  have  come  differently." 

"  Don't  believe  that !  The  girl  has  a  kind  of  obsti- 
nate pride  that  no  man  can  bend,  perhaps  not  even  fate. 
She  will  allow  no  one  an  absolute  control  over  her  de- 
cisions." 

"  Tell  me,  Bemperly,  what  is  tlie  truth  of  this  report, 
that  your  Frau  von  Berkovv  and  Baron  Oldenburg  are 
living  on  very  intimate  terms  with  each  other.?  "  asked 
Sophie,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  Nothing ;  nothing  at  all !  "  said  Bemperlein,  very 
earnestly.  "  I  should  like  to  know  what  people  have  to 
do  with  that.  There  is  an  old  friendship  between  them, 
which  dates  back  to  the  years  when  they  were  children. 
That  is  all.  Then  they  are  neighbors,  and  must  needs 
see  each  other  frequently — is  not  that  perfectly  nat- 
ural .?     Why  could  not  they  marry  each  other  if  they 


Through  Night  to  Light.  453 

liked  it  ?  Instead  of  that  the  baron  goes  to  Paris,  and 
leaves  her,  amid  snow  and  ice,  quite  alone  at  Berkow. 
Does  not  that  show  as  clear  as  daylight  that  there  is  no 
question  of  love  between  them? — or  it  must  be  a  strange 
kind  of  love." 

At  that  moment  Sophie  started  with  joy.  She  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  tall,  elegant  man  with  a  black 
beard,  who  was  hastily  passing  the  window. 

"  There  is  Franz !  "  cried  the  young  wife,  her  large 
blue  eyes'  brightening  up  and  her  cheeks  blushing  a 
deep  red.     "  Hide  yourself,  Bemperly  !  " 

"But  where.'*"  said  Mr.  Bemperlein,  looking  around 
in  the  room. 

"  There,  behind  the  curtain  !  Hold  it  together  in 
the  middle,  so  that  it  cannot  open — thus!  " 

The  bell  was  rung.  Immediately  afterwards  the  door 
of  the  room  opened,  and  Franz  entered  with  rapid 
steps. 

"  Has  not  Bemperlein  come  1  " 

"  Do  you  see  him  anywhere.''  " 

Franz,  it  is  true,  did  not  see  Mr.  Anastasius  Bemper- 
lein, but  upon  a  chair  a  gentleman's  hat;  and,  besides,  the 
folds  of  tlie  heavy  curtain  arranged  in  a  manner  which 
very  clearly  betrayed  the  efforts  of  a  hand  to  hold  them 
together. 

So  he  said  : 

"  That  man  Bemperlein  is,  after  all,  an  utterly  unre- 
liable, frivolous,  unconscionable  whipper-snapper ;  a 
man  without  faith,  without  principle ;  a  quack,  whom  I 
have  regretted  over  and  over  again  to  have  recom- 
mended to  Mr.  Planke  as  director  of  his  chemical  manu- 
factory, so  that  he  has  actually  engaged  him  with  a 
salary  of  a  thousand  a  year  and  five  per  cent,  of  the 
clear  receipts.  He  is  a  perfect  Don  Giovanni  of  a  Bem- 
perlein, who  has  secret  interviews  with  the  wives  of  his 
friends,  hides  himself  when  they  return  behind  curtains, 
and  is  stupid  enough  to  leave  his  hat  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.     A  harlequin  of  a  Bemperlein " 

"  Stop  !  "  said  that  gentleman,  opening  the  curtain. 
"  I  am  found  out !  " 

The  two  friends  embraced  with  great  cordiality. 


454  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Do  you  know  whom  I  have  just  seen  ?  "  asked  Franz, 
after  the  most  important  questions  had  been  fully  an 
swered. 

"Well  ?  "  cried  Bemperlein  and  Sophie. 

"Baron  Oldenburg  and  Frau  von  Berkow." 

"Impossible  !  "  exclaimed  Bemperlein, casting  an  em- 
barrassed look  at  Sophie,  and  receiving  in  return  a  tri- 
umphant smile. 

"As  I  tell  yovi.  I  met  them  arm  in  arm  near  the  pal- 
ace. Frau  von  Berkow  has  given  me  her  address  and 
asked  me  to  call  on  her.  There  !  Broad  street,  No.  54. 
She  has  furnished  lodgings.  This,  and  the  circumstance 
that  she  has  her  children  with  her,  make  me  believe 
that  she  has  come  here  for  some  time.  I  told  her  we 
were  expecting  Bemperlein  to-day,  and  she  seemed  to 
be  very  glad  to  hear  it.  Baron  Oldenburg  also  sends 
his  best  regards,  and  wants  you  to  know  that  he  has  re- 
turned only  yesterday  from  Paris,  in  company  with 
Professor  Berger.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  the  two 
met  in  Paris  and  witnessed  the  whole  revolution  .'  They 
are  staying  at  the  Hotel  de  Russie  Unter  den  Linden. 
I  have  advised  Frau  von  Berkow,  if  she  has  not  very 
pressing  business  here,  to  leave  the  city,  because  we  shall 
in  all  probability  have  very  troublesome  times  soon. 
Albert  street  is  full  of  people,  swarming  to  and  fro  like 
an  ant-hill  in  uproar.  Aids  and  orderlies  are  galloping 
through  the  streets  at  full  speed.  At  the  corner  of  Al- 
bert and  Bear  streets  they  had  actually  guns  in  position. 
Under  the  Linden,  they  say,  thei^e  has  actually  been  a 
collision,  and  an  officer  of  the  guards  is  said  to  have 
been  brutally  ill-treated  by  the  mob.  Some  said  it  was 
Prince  Waldenberg.  The  excitement  was  so  great  that 
the  people  left  the  grand  opera,  although  they  were  giv- 
ing a  new  ballet,  soon  after  the  beginning  of  the  per- 
formance. In  Fisher  street  the  mob  has  attacked  a  gun- 
shop,  and  an  acquaintance  of  mine  saw  in  Gold  street 
the  beginning  of  a  barricade.  In  one  word,  the  city  is 
in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement,  and  therefore,  little 
wife,  you  had  better  bring  out  your  tea,  instead  of  stand- 
ing there  with  your  mouth  wide  open  and  swallowing 
the  horrible  news." 


Through  Night  to  Light.  455 

Sophie  fell  upon  her  husband's  neck,  pressed  a  kiss 
on  his  lips,  and  went  out  to  order  supper.  The  two 
friends  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and  discussed  their  own 
and  public  affairs  with  that  seriousness  and  thorough- 
ness which  becomes  wise  men. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  "  Dismal  Hole  "  was  one  of  those  suspicious 
places  to  which  respectable  people  never  resort, 
even  after  a  long  and  dusty  walk,  when  some 
refreshment  seems  to  be  needed.  Young  men,  perhaps, 
who  have  less  virtue  than  desire  to  enjoy  life,  and  whom 
the  spirit  of  mischief  has  led  far  from  their  accustomed 
haunts,  occasionally  drift  into  its  sombre  halls,  and  find 
next  morning  their  head  aching  furiously,  and  their 
mind  filled  with  confused  but  by  no  means  pleasant 
reminiscences  of  the  night.  Nevertheless  the  "Dismal 
Hole  "  was  found  in  a  by-street  of  a  very  fashionable 
quarter  of  the  city,  and  very  modest  in  the  day.  It  shone 
forth  at  night  by  means  of  a  blood-red  lamp,  which 
looked  up  and  down  the  street  invitingly  until  the  sun 
came  and  extinguished  it.  During  all  these  hours  it 
seemed  to  be  irresistibly  attractive  to  many  people  ; 
at  least  it  was  almost  always  crowded  with  customers. 
Thus  it  was  on  this  evening  also.  There  was  scarcely 
a  vacant  chair  in  the  four  or  five  large  rooms  which 
formed  the  "  Dismal  Hole."  Eliza,  Bertha,  and  Pauline, 
the  three  pretty  waiters,  had  their  hands  full  in  bring- 
ing the  beer  to  each  thirsty  guest,  and  in  giving  him 
time  to  pinch  their  cheeks,  or  at  least  to  say  a  civil  word. 
These  confidential  interviews,  short  as  they  Avere,  no 
doubt  interfered  somewhat  with  business,  but  what 
could  be  done .''  Thirsty  gentlemen,  belonging  to  a 
certain  class  of  society,  insist  upon  holding  the  pretty 
hand  that  brings  them  the  mug  of  beer,  though  it  may 
be  slightly  moistened  with  foam,  a  little  while  in  their 


456  Through  Night  to  Light. 

own;  and  in  this  case  such  a  desire  was  all  the  more 
justifiable,  as  the  three  girls  were  really  very  pretty,  and 
did  all  honor  to  the  good  taste  of  the  landlady  of  the 
"  Dismal  Hole." 

Mrs.  Rosalie  Pape  was  a  lady  of  fifty  or  more,  who 
struck  you  at  first  sight  by  her  enormous  size.  It  was 
only  after  more  careful  examination  that  you  noticed 
the  coarseness  of  the  features,  which  were  half  hid  in 
fat,  and  the  short  and  square  fingers  of  the  plump' white 
hands ;  and  only  the  experienced  observer  could  dis- 
cover that  the  brown  hair  which  adorned  abundantly 
the  head  of  the  matron  could  not  possibly  be  her  own,  and 
that  the  small,  bright  blue  eyes,  in  spite  of  the  apparent 
kindliness  of  the  broad  mouth,  had  a  sharp  and  at  times 
even  a  downright  wicked  and  dangerous  expression. 

The  guests  at  the  "  Dismal  Hole,"  however,  were  not 
the  men  to  make  such  observations.  In  their  eyes  Rosa- 
lie was  a  charming,  splendid  woman,  under  whose 
management  the  fame  of  the  place  was  spreading  far 
and  near,  and  they  were  delighted  when  the  good  lady 
left  her  place  behind  the  bar  and  made  a  tour  through 
the  whole  basement.  Here  she  Avould  familiarly  clap 
an  acquaintance  on  the  shoulder,  or  welcome  a  new- 
comer ;  there  she  would  graciously  accept  the  praise  of 
her  beer,  or  try  to  disarm  a  critic  by  putting  his  glass  to 
her  own  lips  and  taking  a  pull  of  which  a  sergeant  need 
not  have  been  ashamed. 

Thus  she  had  just  now  approached  two  men  who 
were  sitting  alone  in  a  corner,  and  putting  their  heads 
close  together  whispered  so  eagerly  that  it  was  evident 
the  topic  of  their  conversation  must  have  been  of  the 
greatest  importance. 

"  Well,  little  Schmenckel,  how  do .'  "  said  Mrs.  Rosalie, 
putting  her  fat  hand  upon  the  broad  shoulders  of  the 
strong  gentleman  in  the  velvet  coat ;  "  it  seems  to  me 
you  look  rather  warm.  Do  not  drink  too  much,  or  you 
will  not  be  able  to  show  oft"  well  afterwards.  You  have 
a  large  audience  to-night." 

"  I  fear  I  wont  be  able  to  do  much  to-night,"  said  the 
director,  with  stammering  tongue,  his  face  flushed  and 
bloated  almost  painfully. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  457 

"  But,  Schmcnckel,  you  promised  !  "  replied  Mrs.  Rose, 
and  her  eyes  did  not  look  very  kindly  at  him.  "  One 
good  turn  deserves  another,  you  know." 

"My  friend  Schmcnckel  will  consider  it,"  said  the 
other  gentleman,  a  man  with  light  hair,  and  wearing 
spectacles  for  his  sharp  blue  eyes;  "he  happens  just 
now  to  be  somewhat  excited  by  an  encounter  he  has  had 
an  hour  ago  Unter  den  Linden.  However,  I  am  par- 
ticularly delighted,  madame,  to  have  found  out  your 
new  address  through  Mr.  Schmcnckel.  I  had  been  look- 
ing for  you  all  over  town  for  two  days,  and  all  in  vain." 

Mrs.  Rose  Pape  cast  a  glance  at  the  speaker.  There 
was  something  in  his  whole  appearance,  and  in  his  way 
of  speaking,  which  attracted  her. 

"  With  whom  have  I  the  honor  1  "  she  said. 

"  All  on  my  side  !  Will  you  favor  us  with  your  company 
for  a  few  moments.''  "  said  the  young  man,  offering  Mrs. 
Rosalie  the  third  yet  vacant  chair  near  the  little  table. 
"  My  name  is  Albert  Timm,  from  Grunwald.  I  have  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  you  from  an  old  friend,  who 
sends  his  kindest  regards.  May  I  be  permitted  to  place 
the  document  in  those  beautiful  hands  ?  "  And  Mr. 
Timm  handed  the  lady  an  unsealed  letter,  which  he  had 
drawn  from  a  very  shabby  pocket-book. 

Mrs.  Rosalie  seemed  to  be  a  little  embarrassed  by  this 
communication.  She  cast  one  more  searching  glance 
at  the  stranger,  looked  all  around  the  room  to  see  that 
she  was  unobserved,  opened  the  note,  turned  ralf-round 
to  get  the  benefit  of  the  gas-light,  and  read : 

"  Dear  Rose  :  The  bearer  is  a  very  good  friend  of  mine, 
whom  you  can  trust  unconditionally.  He  will  tell  you 
something  about  that  matter  at  Grenwitz  that  will  make 
you  open  your  eyes  wide.  If  you  and  Jeremiah  will 
help  him,  we  can,  I  am  sure,  help  a  certain  gentleman 
to  his  inheritance,  and  make  a  prodigious  profit  out  of 
it  ourselves.  Good-by  !  I  hope  you  arc  well ;  and  I 
hope  the  same  of  your  still  warmly  attached      T.  G." 

"  You  know  the  hand-writing.'  "   asked  Mr.  Timm  of 
the  good  lady,  who,  after  reading  the  letter  twice,  and 
folding  it  up  carefully  to  put  it  in  her  pocket,  had  been 
looking  at  him  for  some  time  with  suspicious  glances. 
20 


458  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  It  seems  to  me  the  hand-writing  is  familiar,"  she 
said. 

"  Well,  for  the  present  that  is  the  main  point.  As  for 
the  rest,  I  will  tell  you  more  at  the  proper  time.  I  hope 
you  will  grant  me,  to-night,  the  favor  and  the  honor  of 
a  confidential  talk.  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  the  best 
friends  in  the  world  by  to-morrow." 

There  was  a  confidence  and  self-assurance  in  the  man- 
ner of  the  young  man  which  decidedly  imposed  on  Mrs. 
Rosalie,  however  nicer  people  might  have  been  shocked 
by  the  air  of  vulgar  impertinence  with  which  it  Avas  fla- 
vored. She  returned  the  familiar  pressure  of  Timm's 
hand  and  rose,  as  just  at  that  moment  one  of  the  three 
Hebes  came  to  say  that  she  was  wanted  at  the  bar. 

Mr.  Timm  turned  once  more  to  Director  Caspar 
Schmenckel,  from  Vienna,  who  was  so  drunk  or  so  ab- 
sorbed in  his  thoughts  that  he  had  paid  little  or  no  at- 
tention to  the  conversation  between  his  friend  and  Mrs. 
Rosalie,  and  then  he  said  : 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  doubtful  a  moment.  I 
tell  you,  as  you  were  thus  facing  each  other  I  was  struck 
by  the  likeness,  although  I  had  little  leisure  at  that  time 
to  make  observations.  I  grant  the  accident  is  marvel- 
lous which  has  brought  you  together  once  more  after  so 
many  years,  at  an  hour  and  at  a  place  where  you  perhaps 
least  expected  ever  to  meet.  But  what  does  that  amount 
to .''  I  have  a  great  respect  for  Master  Accident,  for  he 
has  helped  me  over  and  over  again  out  of  many  a  pre- 
dicament when  all  cleverness  and  wisdom  were  at  fault. 
And  this  accident  is  too  famous  not  to  be  somctliing 
more  than  a  mere  accident.  And  what  is  the  great 
wonder,  after  all .''  You  court,  twenty -tAvo  years  ago,  a 
frivolous  lady,  and  you  succeed.  When  the  husband  re- 
turns, and  finds  you  under  suspicious  circumstances, 
you  pitch  him  out  of  the  window.  The  lady  never  has 
had  but  one  child,  and  the  age  of  that  child  agrees  to  the 
day.  You  were  in  St.  Petersburg,  you  tell  me,  in  Sep- 
tember, eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-five,  and  the  prince 
was  born  in  May,  twenty-six " 

"  How  do  you  know  all  that.^"  asked  Mr.  Schmenc- 
kel, and  shook  his  head  incredulously. 


I 


Through  Night  to  Light.  459 

"  I  tell  you,  my  man,  I  know  it!  That  is  enough  for 
you.     And  suppose  the  fellow  is  not  your  son,  then " 

"But  why  shouldn't  he  be  my  son?"  cried  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  striking  the  table  with  his  gigantic  hand. 
"  Do  I  look  as  if  I  was  not  worth  having  children  .?  " 

Mr.  Timm  took  off  his  spectacles,  wiped  the  glasses 
carefully,  put  them  on  again,  looked  laughingly  at  Di- 
rector Caspar  Schmenckel's  flushed  face,  and  said  good- 
naturedly  : 

"  Look  here,  old  man,  you  are  a  funny  old  creatvire. 
First,  I  talk  till  I  lose  my  breath  to  prove  to  you  that 
yovi  are  the  father  of  this  hopeful  youth ;  and  then,  when 
I  merely  assume  it  might  not  be  so,  you  become  disa- 
greeable, and  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  beat  me.  I 
only  meant  to  say  this  :  Suppose  the  man  is  not  your 
son,  then;  that  also  does  not  matter  much.  We  can  only 
try.  We  can  ask  if  the  princess  remembers  a  certain 
evening  at  St.  Petersburg,  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 
I'll  wager  my  head  against  an  empty  pumpkin  we 
frighten  her  out  of  her  wits,  and  the  roubles  come  tum- 
bling down  into  our  lap." 

"  But  wont  they  hand  us  over  to  the  police  }  "  asked 
Mr.  Schmenckel,  shaking  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"  Pshaw  I  They  will  be  glad  if  no  one  else  hears  of 
it.  There  is  no  better  ally  for  people  like  us  than  a 
bad  conscience.  I  tell  you  I  have  some  experience  in 
that  department." 

Mr.  Schmenckel  reflected  so  deeply  on  the  grave 
matter  that,  what  with  the  mental  eftbrt,  and  perhaps 
also  with  too  much  beer,  his  head  began  to  glow.  Sud- 
denly a  thought  occurred  to  him  which  might  throw 
some  light,  if  not  upon  the  matter  itself,  at  least  upon 
the  character  of  his  new  friend. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  what,  after  all,  is  the  whole  story  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Fie,  director,"  replied  Timm,  with  great  indignation. 
"  I  should  not  have  expected  such  a  question  from  you  ! 
Did  you  not  save  me  from  the  paws  of  the  soldiers ! 
Does  not  one  hand  wash  the  other  ?  Is  there  no  such 
thing  in  the  world  as  gratitude  ?  If  you  insist  abso- 
lutely upon  being  a  poor  devil  for  the  rest  of  your  life, 


460  Through  Night  to  Light. 

instead  of  living  in  your  own  house  with  an  annuity  of 
a  few  thousand  roubles,  and  of  driving  your  own  car- 
riage, I  liave  notliing  to  say  to  it !  I  beg  your  pardon 
for  having  troubled  you  with  all  these  things.  Come, 
let  VIS  talk  of  something  else  !  " 

"  Now,  come,  don't  fly  off  at  such  a  pace!  "  cried  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  anxiously.  "  I  don't  dream  of  taking  any- 
thing amiss,  especially  if  you  want  to  make  me  the 
father  of  a  live  prince.  But  that  I  should  have  such  a 
grand  son,  and  that  I  should  have  whipped  him  so  unmer- 
cifully the  very  first  time  I  ever  set  eyes  on  him,  that  is 
surely  amazing  enough.  If  Caspar  Schmenckel  were 
to  tell  anybody  else  so  he  would  not  be  believed." 

"  I  do  not  see,"  said  Timm,  "  why  that  is  any  more 
amazing  than  that  I  must  be  the  only  one  of  the  thou- 
sands in  the  park  to  run  right  into  the  arms  of  the 
prince ;  that  I  alone  happen  to  know  him  from  former 
times  ;  that  I  remember  his  name,  mention  it  to  you,  and 
thus  call  up  in  your  mind  a  remembrance  Avhich  helps 
us  to  make  this  important  discovery.  I  can  assure  you 
I  was  at  first  quite  as  much  amazed  as  you  are  ;  but  such 
things,  thank  God,  do  not  last  long  with  me." 

Mr.  Timm  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  picked 
his  teeth.  Mr.  Schmenckel  looked  with  infinite  aston- 
ishment, not  unmixed  Avith  fear,  at  the  man  whom  even 
such  an  extraordinary  event  could  not  move  from 
habitual  coolness.  Mr.  Schmenckel  was  not  the  man  to 
reflect  deeply  on  the  relations  in  which  he  stood  to  this 
man ;  but  still,  he  had  an  indistinct  feeling  about  it. 
As  he  was  looking  at  him  thus,  he  felt  a  decided  in- 
clination to  give  the  young  man  a  hearty  drubbing,  or 
to  punish  him  in  some  other  way  for  his  superiority, 
as  an  elephant  sometimes  may  dream  of  the  pleasure 
he  would  enjoy  if  he  could  hurl  his  Carnac  on  the 
ground  and  trample  upOn  him  with  his  feet  for  a  few 
minutes. 

It  was  a  few  hours  later.  In  the  "  Dismal  Hole," 
where  they  had  had  very  lively  times — tlie  excitement 
was  intense  everywhere  ;  beer  Avas  drunk  by  the  cask, 
and  speeches  were  made  without  number  and  without 
end — only  a  few  guests  had  remained.     They  sat  scat- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  461 

tered  about,  in  groups  of  three  and  four  persons,  mostly 
people  of  rather  peculiar  appearance,  such  as  are  only 
seen  in  large  cities,  and  there  also  rarely  or  never  in 
the  day-time  and  on  the  streets.  Men  in  shabby,  often 
fantastic  costumes,  with  dissipated  and  yet  attractive 
features,  and  with  eyes  which  now  blazed  up  in  wild 
passion,  and  now  gloated  stolidly  on  vacancy — strange 
figures,  who  tell  the  knowing  eye  without  opening  their 
lips  long  stories  of  proud  plans  and  childish  deeds,  of 
great  talents  and  still  greater  recklessness,  of  lofty  pride 
and  low  disgrace,  of  senseless  dissipation  and  gnawing 
hunger,  of  incredible  efforts  condemned  to  end  like  the 
labors  of  Sisyphus,  and  of  an  ambition  leading  only 
to  the  sufferings  of  Tantalus,  until  efforts  and  ambition 
and  every  virtue,  nay,  every-  good  instinct,  is  drowned 
in  the  morass  of  apathetic  indifference. 

But  these  groups  also  gradually  disappeared ;  one 
light  after  another  was  put  out  by  the  poor  girls,  who 
had  for  the  last  hour  been  nodding  here  and  there  in  the 
corners,  their  pretty  faces  buried  in  their  round  arms ; 
and  at  last  there  was  nobody  left  but  Mr.  Schmenckel, 
who  was  asleep,  drunk,  on  one  of  the  sofas,  and  two 
other  gentlemen  who  were  sitting  with  the  landlady 
around  one  of  the  small  tables  over  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne. One  of  these  men  was  Albert  Timm,  from  Grun- 
wald  ;  the  other  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  who  had  only 
come  about  an  hour  ago,  and  whom  Mrs.  Rose  had  in- 
troduced to  Mr.  Timm  as  the  brother  of  his  landlord  in 
Grunwald,  Mr.  Jeremiah  Goodheart.  From  his  clothes 
and  his  whole  general  appearance  he  might  have  been 
taken  for  a  modest  citizen  in  tolerably  good  circum- 
stances ;  a  grocer,  perhaps,  or  a  tobacco  dealer ;  but  in 
his  small  eyes,  overshadowed  by  heavy  eyebrows,  there 
was  something  that  seemed  to  indicate  that  the  occupa- 
tion of  the  man  was  not  quite  so  harmless,  or  at  least 
had  not  always  been  quite  so  harmless. 

The  three  persons  had  been  conversing  very  eagerly, 
and  Mr.  Timm  now  summed  up  what  had  been  said. 

"  Then  there  are  two  questions,"  he  said.  "  First  we 
must  get  a  peep  at  the  baptismal  register  at  St.  Mary's ; 
or,  better  still,  obtain  a  certified  copy  of  the  entry;  and, 


462  Through  Night  to  Light. 

secondly,  we  must  find  the  principal  personage  in  this 
comedy — I  mean  Mr.  Oswald  Stein." 

"  But  how  do  you  know  he  is  to  be  here.''"  asked  the 
man  with  the  odd  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  know  it ;  I  only  presume  so.  He  wrote  me 
a  week  ago  from  Paris  that  he  could  not  support  him- 
self any  longer  there,  and  that  he  must  try  to  reach 
home  before  his  money  was  at  an  end.  It  seems  to  me, 
beyond  all  doubt,  that  he  must  have  come  here,  where 
he  had  literary  engagements  already  when  he  was  a  stu- 
dent here,  and  wdiere  he  has  therefore  the  best  prospect 
of  finding  some  means  of  support  for  himself  and  his 
sweet  one.  Only  I  do  not  think  he  will  appear  under 
his  true  name,  so  as  not  to  expose  himself  to  disagreea- 
ble encounters  with  the  relations  of  the  Baroness  Clo- 
ten,  who,  I  know,  are  still  after  him,  and  would  very 
soon  find  him  out  here.  This  might  therefore  be  the 
more  difficult  task  of  the  two,  unless  accident,  my  faith- 
ful old  ally,  should  again  come  to  my  assistance." 

"  That  item  you  may  quietly  leave  in  the  hands  of  my 
friend  here,"  said  Mrs.  Rosalie,  familiarly  placing  her 
hand  on  the  head  of  the  man  with  the  odd  eyes ;  "  and 
now,  gentlemen,  I  believe  it  is  time  we  should  part.  To- 
morrow is  another  day.  Yes ;  but  what  shall  we  do  with 
the  big  fellow  there  on  the  sofa,  who  has  been  drinking 
for  twelve  to-day.^" 

"We  shall  have  to  carry  him  home,  if  you,  fair  lady, 
have  not  perhaps  a  snug  little  place  for  him  somewhere," 
replied  Mr.  Timm,  with  a  look  full  of  meaning. 

"  You  scamp  !  "  said  the  lady,  pinching  Mr.  Timm's 
cheeks.     "  I  will  have  to  stop  you." 

"  I  hope  so — with  a  kiss." 

"  You  scamp,  you !  "  said  the  lady,  evidently  not  un- 
willing to  try  the  experiment. 

Mr.  Timm  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  it,  for  he  suddenly 
turned  to  Mr.  Schmenckel  and  began  to  shake  him,  first 
gently,  then  more  vigorously,  and  at  last  as  hard  as  he 
could. 

"  Uff"!  "  groaned  the  giant,  half  asleep  yet ;  "  let  me 
go,  I'll  manage  the  boy." 

"  What  will  he  do  1  "  asked  the  man  with  the  odd  eyes. 


Through  IVighi  to  Light.  463 

"  Oh,  he  is  talking  in  his  sleep,"  said  Mr.  Timm ; 
give  me  a  glass  of  water,  Lizzie ;  I  believe  that  will  wake 
him  up." 

At  last  the  colossus  stood  upright,  but  not  without 
swaying  to  and  fro  like  a  lighthouse  in  a  storm.  Still 
he  could  stand  on  his  feet  now,  and,  as  Mr.  Goodheart 
happened  to  know  wdiere  he  lived,  the  task  to  carry  him 
home  seemed  to  be  feasible.  INIr.  Timm  seized  him  by 
one  arm,  the  man  with  the  odd  eyes  by  the  other  arm, 
and  thus  they  managed  to  lift  him  up  to  the  cellar  door 
and  into  the  street. 

The  night  was  as  dark  as  a  night  can  be  when  there  are 
no  stars  visible.  The  wind  was  sweeping  mournfully 
through  the  deserted  streets  and  threatened  to  extin- 
guish the  few  gas-lights  that  w^ere  still  burning.  Mr. 
Schmenckel  recovered  in  the  fresh  air  somewhat,  and 
embraced  his  companions  tenderly ;  then  he  vowed  them 
eternal  friendship,  and  promised  each  of  them  a  hundred 
thousand  roubles  as  soon  as  it  should  be  fully  estab- 
lished that  Prince  Waldenberg,  whom  he  had  whipped 
that  day  under  the  Lindens,  was  really  his  own  son. 
Thus  they  reached  the  street,  then  the  house,  and  at  last 
even  the  little  bed -room  in  which  Director  Caspar 
Schmenckel,  from  Vienna,  was  residing  for  the  present. 
Mr.  Schmenckel  sank  down  upon  his  modest  couch,  and 
his  two  companions  left  him,  but  not  until  Mr.  Jei'e- 
miah  had  pulled  out  a  dark-lantern  from  his  pocket  and 
gone  about,  to  Mr.  Timm's  great  astonishment,  examin- 
ing every  corner  of  the  room.  What  he  found  was  not 
much  :  iron  balls,  brass  balls,  sticks  and  staves  of  all 
kinds,  drums  and  trumpets,  odds  and  ends,  all  in  fearful 
disorder. 

"  Now  you  must  fill  the  measure  of  your  kindness," 
said  Timm,  wdien  they  were  in  the  street  again,  "  and 
tell  me  my  way  home.     I  live " 

"  White  Horse,  Falcon  street.  No.  43,  back  room,"  in- 
terrupted Mr.  Jeremiah  Goodheart,  closing  his  lantern 
and  putting  it  back  into  his  pocket. 

"  Arc  you  the  devil.'  "  cried  Mr.  Timm,  nervously  re- 
treating a  step.  "  How  can  you  know  where  I  live ;  I 
have  told  nobody." 


464  Through  Night  to  Light. 

'•  Do  you  think  so  eloquent  a  speaker  at  the  great 
meeting  at  the  Booths  can  long  remain  unknown  to 
us?"  said  Mr.  Goodheart. 

"  To  us?  To  whom?  "  asked  Timm. 
'  "  Never  mind  that.  Anyhow,  I  would  advise  you  to 
deliver  your  speaking  exercises  rather  within  the  four 
walls  of  your  house,  especially  for  the  sake  of  our  little 
affair,  which  might  be  sadly  interfered  wuth  if,  for  in- 
stance, you  should  go  to  jail." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Timm;  "do  you  think  I  covet  the 
glory  of  a  political  martyr?  I  have  given  the  good 
people  a  speech  because  I  like  to  talk  ;  and  secondly,  be- 
cause I  was  angry  at  the  fools." 

"  All  the  better,"  said  the  other,  dryly. 

As  they  were  passing  vmder  a  gas-light  Timm  cast  a 
glance  at  his  companion,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he  under- 
stood the  enigmatical  appearance  of  the  man,  and  the 
"  us"  which  he  had  used. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Goodheart,"  he  said.  "  I  think  I 
have  heard  your  brother  say  that  you  are  a  highly-valued 
member  of  the  Secret  Police.     Is  that  so?  " 

The  man  with  the  odd  eyes  smiled. 

"  You  are  a  cunning  fox,"  he  said,  "  and  have  a  keen 
scent.  My  brother,  to  be  sure,  did  not  tell  you  any  such 
thing,  for  he  knows  nothing  about  it ;  now  did  Rosalie 
tell  you,  for  she  knows  it,  but  she  has  her  reasons  not  to 
speak  of  it ;  consequently " 

"  The  evil  one  must  have  told  me,"  interrupted  Timm, 
quite  restored  to  his  former  sense  of  security  by  this 
proof  of  his  ingenuity.  "  I  think  I  might  have  made  a 
good  detective." 

"That  might  depend  on  yourself  alone." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

The  man  with  the  odd  eyes  did  not  answer  his  ques- 
tion, but  said,  as  they  had  reached  a  corner  of  the  street : 

"  That  is  your  way.  I  shall  call  at  eleven  o'clock. 
Then  we  will  talk  the  matter  over  more  fully." 

The  two  men  parted.  Their  footsteps  were  heard  for 
a  while  down  the  lonely  streets,  while  the  gray  twilight 
was  slowly  rising  over  the  house-tops. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  465 


CHAPTER     VIII. 

IN  a  fine  room  of  a  large  private  hotel  in  Broad  street 
there  sat  on  one  of  the  next  days  Melitta  and  Baron 
Oldenburg.  A  lamp  was  burning  on  the  table ; 
lighted  wax-candles  were  standing  on  the  mantel-piece 
and  on  the  consoles.  Frau  von  Berkow  expected  other 
visitors  that  night,  and  Oldenburg  had  only  availed 
himself  of  the  privilege  of  an  old  friend  to  come  before 
the  appointed  time. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  are  very  silent  to-night,  Adal- 
bert," said  Melitta,  putting  her  work  on  the  table  and 
turning  with  a  kindly  smile  to  Oldenburg.  I  talk  to 
you  of  the  children,  hov/  hearty  the  boy  has  grown,  and 
bow  pretty  Czika  looks  in  her  fashionable  dresses,  and 
you  look — well,  how  do  you  look  ?  " 

"  Like  the  knight  of  the  mournful  countenance,  most 
probably;  at  least  I  feel  so,  from  head  to  foot;  "  replied 
Oldenburg,  rising  and  walking  up  and  down  in  the 
room. 

"  Not  exactly  !  "  said  Melitta.  "  I  thought,  on  the  con- 
trary, you  looked  very  well  in  your  brown  paletot." 

"  Jesting  apart,  Melitta,  I  am  quite  sad  to-night." 

"  That  is  a  pretty  compliment  for  me,  who  have  made 
the  long  trip  from  my  home-nest  to  this  tedious  city 
only  for  your  sake — you  hear,  sir,  only  in  order  to  give 
you  what  I  thought  would  be  a  pleasant  surprise  to 
you ;  bringing  you  the  children  too.  F'or  your  sake,  I 
say ;  so  that  we  might  see  and  talk  unobserved.  For  this 
reason  only  I  have  taken  rooms  here  at  a  private  hotel, 
like  a  farmer's  wife  ;  and  now,  in  return  for  all  this  ap- 
parently Avasted  goodness  and  love,  I  am  told :  You 
might  as  well  have  remained  at  home !  " 

"Do  you  believe  it,  Melitta.'  That  thought  has  oc- 
curred to  me  really  more  than  once,  yesterday  and  to- 
day !  " 

"  That  is  hard !  "  said   Melitta,  and  her  face  showed 
that  she  did  not  exactly  know  whether  she  ought  to 
take  Oldenburg's  words  as  a  jest  or  in  earnest. 
20* 


466  Through  Night  to  Light. 

The  baron  did  not  leave  her  long  in  uncertainty.  He 
sat  down  again  by  her,  seized  her  hand,  and  said : 

"  My  dear  Melitta,  my  words  may  sound  hard,  but  I 
ask  you  yourself,  if  I,  as  a  man,  must  not  think  and  feel 
so.  I  need  not  assure  you,  I  hope,  that  I  am  heartily 
grateful  to  you  for  your  kindness,  for  you  know  that ; 
or,  at  least,  you  ought  to  know  it.  Even  that  you  do 
not  mind  evil  tongues  for  my  sake  I  do  not  count  for 
so  much,  since  I  know  how  little  the  judgment  of  the 
world  is  worth;  I  have  despised  it  all  my  life.  There 
is  something  else  which  prevents  my  enjoying  your 
presence  here  heartily,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  that  is. 
Look,  Melitta:  it  is  natural  to  man  to  wish  to  work  and 
to  care  for  her  whom  he  loves ;  more  than  that,  he  likes 
to  see  the  beloved  one  in  a  certain  way  dependent  on 
him;  I  mean  on  his  strength,  his  courage,  his  wisdom. 
Many  a  warm  affection  has  died  out  simply  because  it 
was  impossible  to  arrange  matters  in  this  way,  and 
many  an  affection  is  even  now  fading  away  for  the  same 
reason.  Thus  it  is  with  my  love  for  you.  As  matters 
stand  I  can  only  live  for  you,  care  and  work  for  you,  in 
trifles  ;  but  not  at  every  hour,  every  minute,  as  I  must 
do,  if  I  am  to  be  happy.  In  the  country,  where  we,  as 
neighbors,  could  often  spend  half  of  a  day  together, 
without  being  observed  and  watched,  it  was  easier;  and 
yet,  even  there,  the  feeling  of  my  uselessness  was  so 
painful  to  me  that  I  was  grateful  for  the  political  storm 
which  drove  me  to  Paris,  where  I  could  at  least  imagine 
that  nothing  parted  vis  but  distance.  But  here,  in  a 
large  city,  the  painful  feeling  overcomes  me;  it  looks  to 
me  as  if  the  moment  at  which  we  meet  had  been  ex- 
pressly chosen  to  show  that  the  relations  between  us  are 
unnatural  and  false.  We  are  standing  here  on  a  vol- 
cano, which  may  break  out  every  moment.  The  soil  is 
trembling  under  our  feet,  and  before  many  days  are 
passed  we  shall  have  seen  unheard-of  things.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  the  end  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  desire  a  decision, 
for  it  is  necessary  and  will  do  us  good.  But  in  order 
to  stand  firm  in  days  when  our  people  are  going  to  be 
in  trouble  and  in  danger,  in  order  to  be  a  man  in  the 
full  sense  of  the  word,  I  must  have  peace  within   mc, 


Through  Night  to  Light.  467 

and  that  I  cannot  have  as  long  as  we  stand  thus.  I 
shall  have  no  peace,  Melitta,  till  you  are  mine,  till  we 
are  one  ;  till  I  know  that  I  speak  and  act  and  fight,  and, 
if  it  must  be,  die  for  wife  and  child  !  Melitta  !  in  your 
own  name,  in  my  name,  in  all  our  names,  I  ask  you: 
Will  you  be  at  last  my  wife,  after  I  have  served  you  for 
more  years  than  Jacob  served  for  Rachel  ?  " 

The  baron's  voice  trembled,  although  he  evidently 
made  a  great  effort  to  speak  as  calmly  and  as  convinc- 
ingly as  he  could.  He  had  bent  over  Melitta,  who  held 
her  beautiful  head  bowed  low ;  when  he  paused  she 
looked  up,  and  showed  Oldenburg  her  pale,  tear-flooded 
face.     She  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"Would  to  God,  Adalbert  —  for  your  sake,  for  my 
sake,  for  all  our  sakes  —  I  could  answer  you  Yes  !  " 

"  Why  can  you  not  do  it .'  " 

"  You  know  !  " 

"  But,  Melitta,  is  the  memory  of  the  man  whom  you 
cannot  possibly  love  any  longer,  and  of  whom  you  say 
yourself  that  you  do  not  love  him  any  longer,  to  part 
us  forever.?  Have  you  not  paid  the  penalty  of  your 
wrong — if  wrong  it  was  to  follow  the  impulse  of  a  free 
heart — with  a  thousand  tears  ?  Are  you  not  now  to 
me  what  you  have  always  been  ?  And,  if  there  must  be 
a  reckoning  between  us,  have  you  not  to  forgive  and  for- 
get far  more  in  me  than  I  in  you  1  Is  it  reasonable  to 
sacrifice  the  wife  to  a  rigorous  moral  law,  which  the 
husband  does  not  consider  binding  .>'  Who  has  made  that 
unwise  law.''  Not  I;  nor  you.  Why  then  should  you 
and  I  obey  it .''  I  tell  you,  the  day  of  freedom,  which  is 
now  dawning,  will  blow  all  such  self-imposed  laws  to 
the  four  winds,  and  with  them  all  the  ordinances  devised 
by  a  dark  monkish  disposition  to  fetter  nature  and  to 
torment  our  hearts." 

"  Whenever  that  day  comes — and  when  it  comes  for 
me,"  replied  Melitta,  "  I  will  greet  it  with  joy.  If  it  is 
a  mere  notion  which  prevents  me  from  falling  into  your 
arms  and  from  saying :  Take  me ;  I  am  yours,  now  and 
forever !  —  have  pity  with  me,  it  makes  me  suffer  as 
much  as  yourself.  But  Adalbert,  I  am  a  woman  ;  and 
a  woman  can  wait  and  hope  for  the  day  of  release,  but 


468  Through  Night  to  Light. 

she  cannot  fight  for  it.  And  until  that  day  comes,  until 
I  feel  as  free  as  I  must  be  in  order  to  be  yours  in  honor, 
things  must  remain  as  they  are  now." 

Melitta  had  said  this  with  a  low  and  sad  but  yet 
firm  voice,  and  Oldenburg  felt  that  it  would  be  cruel  to 
press  her  further.     He  took  her  hand,  kissed  it,  and  said, 

"  Never  mind,  Melitta  !  I  am  patient.  I  know  that 
you  do  not  make  me  suffer  from  obstinacy.  That  is 
enough  for  me.  And  then  the  day  of  release  which 
you  wait  for,  and  which  we  fight  for,  must  come  sooner 
or  later." 

At  that  moment  old  Baumann  knocked  and  entered 
to  announce  the  expected  visitors.  Melitta  passed  her 
handkerchief  over  her  face,  while  Oldenburg  advanced 
to  greet  Sophie,  who  entered  with  her  husband  and  Bem- 
perlein  by  her  side. 

Melitta  and  Sophie  met  to-night  for  the  first  time,  but 
the  meeting  was  free  from  all  ceremonious  formality. 
The  two  ladies  had  heard  so  much  of  each  other  (es- 
pecially Sophie  of  Melitta)  that  they  knew  each  other 
down  to  the  smallest  details  of  their  outward  appearance, 
and  then  it  was  natural  to  both  of  them  to  lay  aside  all 
restraint  when  they  felt  a  sympathetic  attraction.  Never- 
theless they  looked  at  each  other  with  much  interest  as 
they  shook  hands  and  exchanged  the  first  words.  So- 
phie noticed  that  Melitta  appeared  much  milder  and 
gentler  than  she  had  expected  from  the  great  lady ;  and 
Melitta  observed,  on  the  other  hand,  that  Sophie  did  not 
look  half  as  serious  and  thoughtful  as  Bemperlein  had 
made  her  believe  of  the  clever  and  highly  educated 
daughter  of  the  privy  councillor.  Sophie  saw  also  Ba- 
ron Oldenburg  for  the  first  time,  and  she  cast  from  her 
seat  on  the  sofa  many  a  trying  glance  at  the  tall  man 
in  black,  who  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room  talking  to 
the  two  gentlemen.  He  also  had  never  seen  her  before, 
and,  on  his  part,  observed  carefully  the  two  ladies.  It 
struck  him  that  iDOth  had  an  abundance  of  soft,  curling 
hair,  and  in  that  feature,  as  well  as  in  the  cut  of  their 
large,  expressive  eyes,  a  certain  resemblance  like  two 
roses,  of  which  one,  the  darker  and  fuller,  has  entirely 
opened  its  calyx,  while  the  other  lighter  one  is  but  just 


Through  Night  to  Light.  469 

unfolding  the  delicately-colored  leaves  to  the  light  of 
day. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  Sophie  was  especially  curious 
to  see  how  Oldenburg  and  Melitta  would  behave  towards 
each  other,  for,  in  spite  of  Bemperlein's  assurances  she 
had  persisted  in  believing  that  there  were  close  relations 
between  them.  But  jNIelitta  was  too  much  of  a  lady  of 
the  great  world,  and  Oldenburg  had  too  much  self-con- 
trol, to  show  anything  more  than  a  tone  of  perfect 
politeness  and  mutual  esteem. 

There  was  no  lack  of  topics  for  conversation  in  those 
days  of  great  excitement,  when  feverish  restlessness  had 
seized  on  all  minds,  because  all  felt,  more  or  less,  the 
shadow  of  the  coming  events.  Franz  was  not  a  politician, 
properly  speaking.  His  fondness  for  the  Fine  Arts,  which 
at  first  threatened  to  divide  his  strength,  and  then  the 
study  of  his  great  science  and  which  gave  him  finally  peace 
and  satisfaction,  had  left  him  little  time  for  politics. 
But  he  was  liberal  in  all  respects,  and  besides,  his  pro- 
fession had  given  him  frequent  opportunities  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  wants  of  the  people  themselves,  and 
an  insight  which  had  convinced  him  of  the  necessity  of 
an  entire  change  of  social  relations.  He  was  not  quite 
as  clear  about  the  doctrine  that  this  could  not  be  done 
without  first  changing  the  political  forms  of  the  state, 
especially  because  his  eye  was  more  busy  with  details 
than  with  the  whole.  "  I  am  at  heart  a  Republican,"  he 
was  wont  to  say,  "  but  I  have  no  desire  to  hear  a  Re- 
public proclaimed,  because  I  do  not  believe  that  that 
would  help  us  essentially  as  long  as  the  evil  is  not  taken 
hold  of  at  the  root.  But  I  see  the  root  of  the  evil  in  the 
dark  superstitions  which  reverse  nature  and  change 
men  from  free  citizens  of  this  earth  into  helots  of  a  su- 
pernatural world." 

Franz  expressed  himself  in  this  sense  to-night  also  to 
Oldenburg,  but  he  found  him  a  decided  adversary. 

"  I  believe,  doctor,"  said  the  latter,  "  that  you  attach 
too  little  importance  to  the  results  obtained  by  a  well- 
ordered  commonwealth — res  publica,  ladies,  the  Romans 
used  to  call  it — and  to  the  difference  between  a  sensible 
and  an  unwise  form  of  government.     I  wish  you  could 


47©  Through  Night  to  Light. 

have  heard  the  discussions  I  have  had  with  Professoi 
Berger,  speaking  of  the  sad  character  of  a  time  which 
produces  hardly  anytlaing  else  but  problematic  charac- 
ters." 

"  Where  is  the  professor  ?"  asked  Bemperlein.  "  I  had 
half  promised  Mrs.  Braun  that  she  should  meet  her 
father's  old  friend." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  said  Melitta  ;  "  do  you  know,  Old- 
enburg.-'" 

"  No ;  I  lost  him  at  the  meeting  at  the  Booths  from 
my  arm,  and  could  not  find  him  again  in  the  crowd.  I 
am  quite  sure,  howe-v^r,  that  he  will  yet  come." 

"  Problematic  characters  !  "  repeated  Franz,  who  had 
been  so  absorbed  in  his  thoughts  that  he  had  not  heard 
the  last  words.  "  Do  you  know,  baron,  that  when  I 
heard  that  expression  of  Goethe's  the  first  time  it  was  in 
connection  with  your  name,  and  from  the  lips  of  a  man 
who  was  once  very  dear  to  me,  and  in  whom  you  also, 
as  far  as  I  know,  once  took  a  very  lively  interest }  You 
need  not  beat  the  devil's  tattoo  on  the  table,  Bemper- 
lein ;  I  know  that  you,  who  are  generally  as  gentle  as  a 
lamb,  have  talked  yourself  into  a  most  unchristian  ha- 
tred against  Oswald  Stein,  and  I  only  mention  our 
former  friend  because  he,  as  well  as  his  teacher,  Berger, 
appeared  to  me  always  as  a  type  of  such  problematic 
characters." 

As  Franz  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of  Oswald's  former 
relations  to  Melitta,  to  Oldenburg,  and  to  Bemperlein,  he 
did  not  notice  the  blush  which  suddenly  spread  over 
Melitta's  cheeks  so  that  she  bent  low  over  her  work  in 
order  to  conceal  it ;  and  the  vehemence  with  which  Bem- 
perlein exclaimed :  "  I  should  think,  Franz,  that  man 
does  not  deserve  being  mentioned  here,"  only  excited 
his  opposition. 

"Do  you  too  think  so,  baron.?"  he  said,  turning  to 
Oldenburg ;  would  you  relentlessly  condemn  a  man 
whose  greatest  misfortune  it  probably  was  to  have  been 
born  in  these  days  .?" 

"  No,"  said  Oldenburg,  calmly  and  solemnly;  "  I  have 
not  yet  forgotten  the  old  word,  that  we  must  not  judge 
if  we  do  not  wish  to  be  judged.     I   have  always  sin- 


Through  Nisht  to  Li^ht. 


471 


cerely  admired  the  brilliant  talents  which  nature  had 
lavished  upon  that  man,  and  I  have  as  sincerely  re- 
gretted that  a  mind  so  richly  endowed  should,  like  a 
luxuriant  tree,  bear  only  sterile  blossoms,  which  can 
produce  no  frait  whatever." 

While  Oldenburg  spoke  thus  his  eyes  had  been  steadily 
fixed  on  Melitta,  who  had  raised  her  face  once  more 
and  now  looked  as  eagerly  up  to  him  as  if  she  wished 
to  read  him  to  the  bottom  of  his  soul.  Franz  was  still 
too  warmly  interested  in  Oswald  to  be  really  satisfied 
by  Oldenburg's  words.  He  replied,  therefore,  in  his 
earnest,  hearty  manner  : 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  judge  Stein  fairly.  I  have 
heard  Stein  himself  quote  you  too  often  not  to  know 
how  fully  you  understood  the  peculiar  condition  of  his 
mind,  and  your  intimacy  with  Berger  was  a  guaranty 
for  me  that  you  are  a  physician  for  the  sick,  and  not 
for  the  healthy,  who,  Bemperlein,  need  no  physician. 
Berger  and  Stein  are  two  characters  strikingly  alike 
in  talents  and  temper.  How  else  could  they  have  formed 
so  close  a  friendship,  with  their  great  difference  in  age .' — 
a  friendship  which,  I  fear,  has  contributed  more  than  any- 
thing else  to  develop  in  Oswald  those  eccentricities  which 
sooner  or  later  must  lead  him  to  insanity  or  suicide." 

"  But  don't  you  see,  Franz,"  said  Bemperlein,  who 
was  always  particularly  tenacious  in  matters  connected 
with  Oswald,  "  that  Bergec  has  successfully  rid  himself 
of  the  alp  of  his  disease,  Avhich  was  evidently  more 
bodily  than  mental,  and  has  thus  shown  that  there  is  a 
very  different  energy  in  him  from  Stein  }  " 

^'  Do  not  praise  the  day  before  the  evening  comes  !  " 
replied  Franz.  "  I  desire,  of  course,  as  anxiously  as  either 
of  you,  the  complete  recovery  of  Professor  Berger ;  but 
I  am  bound  to  say,  as  a  medical  man,  that  I  do  not  con- 
sider a  relapse  yet  out  of  question.  And  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  Bemperlein,  you  mentioned  only  last  night 
that  my  father-in-law  had  expressed  himself  in  the  same 
manner.^  " 

"  But  would  not  that  be  fearful  ?  "  said  Melitta. 

"  I  do  not  say,  madame,  that  it  Avill  be  so ;  I  only  say 
it  may  be  so." 


472  Through  Night  to  Light, 

"  Have  you  lately  noticed  anything  peculiar  in  Ber- 
ger?  "  asked  Melitta,  turning  to  Oldenburg. 

"  Yes  !"  said  the  latter,  after  some  hesitation.  "  I  can- 
not deny  that  his  manner  has  seemed  to  me  lately  much 
more  excited  than  before.  Since  the  revolution  in  Feb- 
ruary, in  which,  you  know,  he  took  an  active  part,  he 
seems  to  be  undermined  by  a  kind  of  feverish  impati- 
ence, which  often  reminds  me  of  the  restlessness  of  a 
lion  who  walks  growling  up  and  down  behind  the  bars 
of  his  cage.  Minutes  seem  to  grow  into  hours  to  him, 
and  hours  into  days.  I  have  told  him  in  vain  that  the 
history  of  great  ideas  counts  only  by  thousands  of  years. 
'  I  have  no  time,'  is  his  invariable  answer.  '  If  you  had, 
like  myself,  wandered  forty  years  through  the  desert, 
you  would  comprehend  the  longing  of  the  weary  pil- 
grim to  breathe  at  last  the  air  of  the  promised  land. 
This  delaying  and  deferring,  this  hesitating  and  halt- 
ing, will  cause  me  to  despair.'  But,  gentlemen,  what  is 
that.?" 

All  listened.  From  afar  off  there  came  a  low  but 
steady  sound,  louder  than  the  rattling  of  carriages. 

"That  is  the  beating  to  arms!  "  said  Oldenburg,  and 
his  cheeks  flushed  up.  "  I  know  the  sound  ;  I  heard  it 
just  so  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-third  of  February, 
along  the  Boulevard  des  Capucins." 

Oldenburg  had  hardly  said  these  words,  and  they  were 
all  rising  to  go  to  the  window,  when  the  door  was  hastily 
opened,  and  a  man  rushed  in,  whom  they  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  recognize  as  Berger.  His  long  gray  hair  hving 
in  matted  locks  around  his  head ;  his  face  and  beard  were 
covered  with  blood,  which  seemed  to  come  from  a  wound 
in  his  forehead  ;  his  coat  was  torn  to  pieces,  as  if  sharp 
instruments  had  cut  and  pierced  it  in  different  places. 
His  eyes  were  glowing,  his  breath  came  with  an  effort, 
as  he  stepped  close  up  to  the  table  and,  gazing  at  the 
company,  said,  in  a  hoarse  voice, 

"  Up  !  up !  You  sit  and  talk,  while  without  your 
brothers  and  your  sisters  are  murdered  !  Up  !  up ! 
With  these  our  bare  hands  we  will  turn  aside  their  bayo- 
nets and  strangle  these  executioners." 

"  He  is  fainting,"  cried  Franz,  seizing  Berger,  who  had 


I 


Through  Night  to  Light.  473 

already  while  he  "was  yet  speaking  begun  to  sway  to  and 
fro,  and  now  broke  down  completely. 

The  men  ran  up  and  carried  their  fainting  friend  to  a 
sofa. 

"  Some  cologne,  madame,"  said  Franz  ;  "  thank  you. 
Do  not  be  afraid;  it  amounts  to  nothing  this  time,  but  I 
fear  for  the  future." 

They  all  stood  around  the  patient,  Avhose  breathing 
became  more  quiet  in  proportion  as  the  beating  of  the 
drums  became  more  subdued  in  the  streets. 


CHAPTER     IX. 

WHILE  the  small  company  in  Frau  von  Berkow's 
rooms  in  the  second  story  had  been  so  suddenly 
and  so  terribly  startled,  there  was  a  young  lady 
sitting  quietly  in  a  room  a  story  higher,  who  had  only 
arrived  at  the  house  a  few  hovirs  before  with  her  hus- 
band (at  least  they  took  the  young  man  who  had  accom- 
panied her  to  be  her  husband).  '  As  the  luggage  was 
marked  "  Paris,"  and  the  gentleman  had  spoken  French 
to  the  lady,  the  people  of  the  ho'use  took  it  for  granted 
that  they  were  French,  especially  as  the  hotel  was  al- 
ways full  of  French  travellers.  Mrs.  Captain  Black,  the 
owner  of  the  hotel,  had  herself  shown  the  strangers  to 
their  rooms,  and  as  the  young  lady  seemed  to  be  tired 
and  suffering,  she  had  asked  her  very  kindly  if  she  could 
do  anything  for  madame.''  The  young  man  (the  young 
lady  did  not  open  her  lips)  had  asked  her  to  send  up 
some  tea,  but  declined  all  other  assistance.  Soon  after- 
wards the  young  man  had  left  the  house. 

He  had  not  been  gone  five  minutes  when  a  cab,  which 
had  been  waiting  at  a  little  distance  up  the  street  ever 
since  the  strangers  had  arrived,  drove  up  to  the  house. 
A  young  man  stepped  out  and  asked  the  porter  if  a 
gentleman  and  a  lady  who  had  arrived  from  Paris  per- 
haps a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  were  at  home.''  when  the 


474  Through  NigJit  to  Light. 

porter  replied  that  the  gentleman  had  just  left,  remark- 
ing  he  would  be  back  in  an  hour,  but  that  madame  was, 
as  far  as  he  knew,  in  her  rooms.  The  young  man  asked 
him  to  show  him  up  at  once.  The  porter — a  man  of 
great  experience — saw  that  the  young  man,  who  evi- 
dently belonged  to  the  higher  classes  of  society,  was  in 
a  state  of  great  excitement;  and  as  nine  o'clock  at  night 
did  not  seem  to  him  the  most  suitable  hour  for  visiting 
a  lady  who,  besides,  was  alone  in  her  room,  he  replied 
that  he  did  not  think  the  lady  could  be  seen  now.  Would 
not  the  gentleman  be  pleased  to  call  again  to-morrow 
morning.'' 

"  I  am  in  a  great  hurry,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "  I — I 
must  see  the  young  lady — on  family  business.  Will 
you  be  good  enough  to  inquire  if  she  receives  company, 
and  carry  this — this  card .''  "  he  added,  after  some  reflec- 
tion. 

With  these  words  he  took  a  small  card-case  from  his 
pocket  and  gave  the  porter  a  card.  It  had  on  it  the 
name  of  Adolphus  Baron  Breesen. 

The  young  man's  hand  trembled  so  violently  as  he 
gave  him  the  card,  and  his  face  looked  so  pale  and  dis- 
turbed, that  the  porter  was  more  convinced  than  ever 
that  all  was  not  right,  and  that  the  interview  of  the  new- 
comer with  the  French  Lady  was  probably  possible  only 
at  the  expense  of  the  gentleman  who  had  gone  out. 

"  Why,  I  forgot,"  he  said  ;  "  there  is  the  key  1  They 
are  both  out." 

The  young  man  still  held  the  case  in  his  hand. 

"  I  am  sure,"  he  said,  drawing  a  gold-piece  from  a 
side  pocket  and  slipping  it  into  the  porter's  hand,  "that 
the  lady  is  at  home,  and  that  she  will  receive  me  Avhen 
she  sees  the  card." 

The  porter  was  an  honest  man,  but  he  had  a  large 
family,  and  to-morrow  the  school-money  for  his  two  eld- 
est children  was  due. 

"  Third  story,  second  door  in  the  passage,  on  the  left," 
he  said,  grumbling. 

The  young  man  did  not  wait  for  more.  lie  ran  up, 
taking  three  steps  at  once,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

^'-  Entrez!  "  answered  a  low  voice. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  475 

When  her  companion  had  left  her,  to  take  a  stroll 
through  the  streets,  the  young  lady  had  remained 
seated  where  she  was,  immoveable,  her  head  supported 
in  one  of  her  hands,  and  the  other  hanging  listlessly 
by  her  side.  The  light  of  the  two  wax  candles  on 
the  table  fell  bright  upon  her  face.  The  face  was  evi- 
dently a  lovely  one  when  it  beamed  with  joy  and  exu- 
berant spirits,  as  it  Avas  wont  to  do  ;  but  now  it  was 
pale,  and  disfigured  by  much  weeping.  The  large  gray 
eyes  stared  fixedly  at  the  ground,  the  beautifully  arched 
brows  were  painfully  contracted,  and  the  lips  closed 
firmly.  Mechanically  she  said  '■'•Entrez!"  w'hen  the 
waiter  knocked  to  bring  tea  ;  she  did  not  even  look  up 
while  he  set  the  things  upon  the  table ;  and  he  had  to 
ask  twice  if  she  had  any  more  orders  before  she  an- 
swered a  short  "  No !  "  She  had  totally  forgotten  that 
he  had  been  there  as  soon  as  the  door  closed  behind 
him,  and  when  another  knock  came  she  said,  quite  as 
mechanically  as  before,  '■'■  Entrez  !  " 

"Emily!  " 

The  young  lady  started  up  wnth  a  cry,  and  stared  with 
wide-open  eyes  at  the  young  man  w^io  stood  before  her, 
as  if  she  had  been  suddenly  roused  from  a  deep  sleep 
and  did  not  know  whether  she  were  still  in  a  dream  or 
saw  what  was  real  before  her. 

"  Emily !  "  the  young  man  said  once  more,  and  opened 
his  arms. 

"Adolphus!"  she  cried,  and  threw  herself  on  his 
breast. 

The  two  held  each  other  embraced  as  they  had  done 
in  the  days  of  their  childhood  when  the  brother  came 
home  during  vacations,  and  the  sister  had  gone  to  meet 
him  at  the  "park  gate. 

But  the  days  of  childhood's  innocence  were  long  past. 
Emily  tore  herself  from  her  brother's  arms,  and  cried, 
stretching  out  her  hands  as  if  to  keep  him  away  from 
her, 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  .-'  What  do  you  want 
here.'  " 

"  Can  you  ask  that,  Emily  ?  "  he  replied,  sadly ;  "  What 
I  want  here  ?    You  !    Where  I  come  from  ?    From  Paris ; 


476  Through  Night  to  Light. 

where  I  have  searched  for  you  months  and  months;  Avhere 
I  found  a  trace  of  you  at  last,  just  as  you  were  leaving 
town,  and  from  whence  I  have  followed  you  from  town 
to  town,  from  hotel  to  hotel,  without  ever  succeeding 
in  finding  you  alone.  Not  that  I  am  afraid  of  him !  " 
said  the  young  man,  unconsciously  drawing  himself  up 
proudly  to  his  full  height,  "  but  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
you  kindly  and  gently,  and  I  knew  I  should  not  be  able 
to  do  that  in  his  presence." 

Adolphus  approached  his  sister  to  seize  her  hand. 
She  stepped  back. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  .''  "  she  murmured. 

"Emily!"  he  said,  sadly  ;  "is  that  your  old  love.'' 
Emily  !  child !  come  to  yourself!  What  else  can  I  want 
of  you  than  to  free  you  of  these  chains,  which  must  have 
long  since  become  intolerable  to  you !  Oh,  do  not  say 
no!  I  see  it  in  your  eyes,  I  see  it  in  your  dear,  pale  face, 
that  you  are  very  unhappy !  Emily,  sister !  darling  sister ! 
come  with  me !  By  our  old  father,  who  is  dying  for  grief 
and  sorrow ;  by  the  memory  of  our  sainted  mother ;  by 
all  you  hold  sacred,  I  beseech  you,  come  with  me!  " 

Emily  had  thrown  herself  into  a  corner  of  the  sofa, 
sobbing  and  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.  Adolphus 
knelt  down  before  her.  He  took  both  of  her  hands  in 
his  own;  he  kissed  her  brow  and  hair  and  eyes;  he  spoke 
to  her  with  that  eloquence  which  even  the  simplest  of 
men  find  when  their  heart  is  full  of  true  love.  He  told 
her  that  he  did  not  mean  to  carry  her  back  to  her  hus- 
band, whom  he  could  not  respect,  and  whom  she  had 
married  against  his  wishes ;  that  she  should  not  even 
return  home  if  she  did  not  wish  it ;  that  he  would  take 
her  to  Italy — anywhere.  He  tried  every  chord  in  her 
soul  which  he  thought  would  vibrate  under  his  touch, 
but  for  a  long  time  it  was  all  in  vain. 

"  I  cannot  leave  him !  "  slie  repeated  over  and  over 
again,  amid  tears  and  sobs. 

"But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Emily!."  cried  the  young 
man,  "  is  it  possible  that  such  a  folly  can  last  so  long  } 
Is  it  possible  that  you  still  love  this  man  .?  " 

"  Yes;  yes!  I  love  him  ;  love  him  better  than  I  ever 
did  before !  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  477 

Adolphus  started  up  and  paced  the  room  for  some 
time.     Then  he  came  once  more  to  Emily  and  said, 

"I  must  believe  it,  since  you  say  so;  but  Emily,  upon 
your  honor — for  it  is  your  honor  now  which  is  at  stake — 
answer  me  this  question :  Are  you  as  sure  of  his  love  ?  " 

Emily's  only  answer  was  more  violent  sobs;  and  cry- 
ing bitterly,  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh  God  !  "  said  Adolphus  bitterly ;  "  have  you  fallen 
so  loAV  that  you  follow  a  man  who  no  longer  loves 
you .''  to  Avhom  you  are  a  burden  .?  who  would  give  much 
to  get  rid  of  you  again }  Is  this  my  proud  sister .? 
Well,  well !  I  shall  have  to  break  my  coat  of  arms,  and 
to  cast  down  my  eyes  before  every  wretched  creature  in 
the  streets,  and  take  it  in  silence  if  anybody  calls  me 
a  coward  !  " 

The  young  man  beat  his  forehead  with  his  hand,  and 
tears  of  wrath  and  shame  filled  his  eyes. 

Emily  started  up  from  the  sofa. 

"  Come  !  "  she  said  hurriedly.  "  Come  !  You  are 
right !  I  am  a  burden  to  him.  He  will  be  glad  to  get 
rid  of  me.     Come  !  " 

"  God  be  thanked  !  "  said  Adolphus. 

"Let  us  go  this  instant!  "  cried  Emily,  following  up 
her  resolve  of  the  moment  in  her  usual  passionate  man- 
ner. "  I  do  not  wish  to  see  him  again.  I  will  write  to 
him " 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  said  Adolphus.  "  Here  is  a  leaf  from 
my  pocket-book  ;  pen  and  ink  are  here.  Write  to  him, 
but  just  a  few  words." 

Emily  sat  down  at  the  table;  but  she  had  only  written 
a  few  words  when  she  broke  out  once  more  in  violent 
weeping. 

"  Oh  God !  Oh  God  !  "  she  said,  dropping  her  pen  ; 
"  I  cannot  do  it." 

"  Let  me  do  it,"  said  Adolphus,  taking  the  pen ;  "  I 
will  do  it.  In  the  meantime  get  your  cloak  ;  I  shall  be 
done  in  a  moment." 

While  Emily  was  getting  ready,  Adolphus  wrote  rap- 
idly a  few  lines.  He  was  not  generally  very  expert  in 
such  things,  but  now  the  words  came,  as  it  were,  by 
themselves. 


478  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Are  you  ready?  " 

"  Yes !  " 

They  went  down.     No  one  met  them. 

Adolphus  gave  the  porter  the  keys  to  the  rooms. 

"  Tell  the  gentleman,  when  he  comes  home,  the  lady 
had  gone  out  and  would  probably  not  come  back  again.' 

Adolphus  had  put  Emily  into  a  cab. 

The  cab  drove  up  with  unusual  rapidity. 

"  Hem  !  "  murmured  the  porter,  as  he  hung  the  key  to 
No.  36  again  on  its  hook  on  the  board  ;  "  I  thought 
at  once  it  would  be  so.  Well,  I  cannot  keep  the  people 
if  they  must  needs  runaway." 


CHAPTER    X. 

IN  William  street,  the  real  Faubourg  St.  Germain  of 
the  great  city,  Prince  Waldenberg's  head  steward 
had  bought  shortly  before  New  Year  one  of  the 
largest  and  finest  town  mansions,  the  owner  of  which 
had  recently  died.  The  prince  himself,  who  came  soon 
afterwards  from  Grunwald,  had  superintended  the  inner 
arrangements,  and  pushed  them  so  rapidly,  in  spite  of 
the  magnificent  style  in  which  they  were  carried  on, 
that  he  could  move  in  with  his  numerous  household 
before  the  end  of  January  already.  He  took  one  wing 
for  himself;  the  other  wing  remained  unoccupied,  as 
he  did  not  wish  to  anticipate  the  desires  and  the  good 
taste  of  his  betrothed,  who  was  to  leave  Grunwald  with 
her  mother  in  the  beginning  of  the  month  and  to  come 
to  Berlin.  The  upper  story,  however,  was  full  of  work- 
men and  upholsterers.  Here  his  mother,  the  princess, 
was  to  stay  and  to  receive  company. 

He  was  gratified  to  see  this  part  of  the  house  also 
fully  furnished  and  ready  for  her  reception  when  he  lett 
the  town  on  the  first  of  March  for  the  harbor  of  Stettin, 
where  the  steamer  from  St.  Petersburg  was  expected  in 
a  day  or  two.     At  the  same  time  his  steward  had  engaged 


Through  Night  to  Light.  479 

a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Hotel  de  Russie,  Unter  den  Lin- 
den, for  his  father,  Count  Malikowsky,  wlio  was  expected 
from  Munich. 

It  was  the  same  evening-  on  which  the  above  men- 
tioned events  had  taken  place  in  the  furnished  lodgings 
in  Broad  street. 

In  one  of  the  magnificent  rooms  of  the  Hotel  Wal- 
denberg,  in  a  Avell-padded  easy-chair,  which  had  been 
moved  quite  close  up  to  the  bright  fire  burning  in  the 
fire-place,  the  Princess  Letbus  was  reclining.  The 
prince  stood  by  her,  bending  his  tall  form  down  to  her, 
as  if  to  spare  his  mother  even  the  trouble  of  speaking 
loud.  As  the  fire  was  blazing  up  brighter,  so  that  bril- 
liant flashes  of  liglit  fell  upon  the  two  figures,  the  group 
with  its  background  of  tall  mirrors  and  costly  pictures 
would  have  formed  a  superb  subject  for  tlie  hand  of  a 
modern  Rembrandt.  It  would  not  have  been  easy  to 
find  two  more  striking  representatives  of  frail  womanly 
beauty  and  overpowering  male  strength  than  the  forms 
of  mother  and  son.  While  the  latter,  with  his  broad 
shoulders  and  long  muscular  arms,  looked  as  if  he  were 
made  to  perform  the  labors  of  Hercules,  the  lady,  sitting 
bent  and  drooping,  and  wrapped  up  in  costly  furs  in  spite 
of  the  blazing  fire,  might  have  suggested  that  even  the 
weight  of  a  fly  could  have  been  troublesome  to  her. 
Nor  was  there  any  resemblance  to  be  traced  in  the  fea- 
tures. Although  the  lips  were  languid  and  the  cheeks 
faded;  and  although  the  brow  of  the  lady,  who  could 
hardly  be  over  forty,  looked  narrow  between  the  sunken 
temples  and  beneath  the  dark  hair  with  its  numerous 
silver  threads,  the  connoisseur  could  still  see  that  these 
lips  and  these  cheeks  must  have  once  been  of  surpassing 
beauty,  and  that  the  hair  once  upon  a  time  furnished 
a  frame  of  glorious  curls  around  a  blooming  face  of 
marvellous  perfection.  Tlie  large  black  eyes  were  very 
beautiful  still,  when  she  raised  her  long  silken  eye-lashes, 
which  she  ordinarily  held  drooping,  and  a  deeper  emo- 
tion brouglit  back  for  a  moment  the  fire  which  had  shone 
in  them  in  days  gone  by,  with  too  great  lavishness,  per- 
haps, and  fatal  danger.  There  could  have  been  no 
stronger  contrast  with  this  soft  melting  beauty  than  the 


480  Through  Night  to  Light. 

low  forehead  of  the  prince,  half  hid  under  thick,  crisp 
curly  hair,  which  stood  in  perfect  harmony  with  the 
coarse  though  energetic  lines  of  his  face.  And  yet  in 
spite  of  this  thorough  difference  in  their  physical  na- 
tures, mother  and  son  felt  for  each  other  a  tender  affec- 
tion, which  in  the  former  almost  rose  to  enthusiasm,  and 
in  the  latter  formed  almost  the  only  sentiment  wliich 
acted  as  a  counterpoise  to  his  boundless  pride,  and  the 
prevailing  passion  of  his  energetic  but  unintelligent 
mind. 

"  Good-by,  dear  mamma,"  said  the  prince,  bending 
still  lower,  and  carrying  his  mother's  feeble  hand  to  his 
lips.  "  It  is  time  for  me  to  go,  if  I  do  not  mean  to  be  too 
late  at  the  station  ;  the  train  will  be  in." 

"  Adieu,  my  dear  son,"  replied  the  princess.  "  Wel- 
come your  betrothed  in  my  name.  Tell  her  she  will 
find  a  second  mother  here.  Has  the  count  consented  to 
be  present  w^hen  the  ladies  come  .''" 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma." 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  son,  go  with  God ;  and  may  He 
bless  your  going  out  and  coming  in  !  " 

She  breathed  a  kiss  on  the  brow  of  the  prince,  who 
then  arose  and  noiselessly  stepped  on  the  thick  carpet 
to  the  door. 

The  princess  remained  deeply  imbedded  in  her  easy- 
chair  after  her  son  had  left  her.  There  were  evidently 
no  pleasant  thoughts  passing  through  her  mind  at  that 
moment,  for  her  features  became  darker  and  darker,  and 
the  black  eyes  stared  more  fixedly  than  ever  at  the  blaze 
in  the  fire-place,  so  that  they  shone  like  weird  fires  in 
the  flickering  liglit,  and  contrasted  almost  painfully 
with  the  pale  face.  At  last  a  shudder  seemed  to  pass 
over  her  and  to  rouse  her ;  she  rang  the  tiny  silver  bell 
that  stood  close  by  her  on  the  little  buhl  table. 

Immediately  her  first  waiting-woman,  Nadeska,  en- 
tered the  room. 

Nadeska  was  a  serf,  who  had  grown  up  with  the  prin- 
cess, and  gradually  made  herself  indispensable  to  her 
mistress  by  her  pliant  submission,  and  especially  by  her 
perfect  skill  in  carrying  on  all  kinds  of  intrigue.  The 
princess  had,  in  her  somewhat  stormy  youth,  required 


Through  Night  to  Light.  481 

the  assistance  of  such  a  person  ;  and  when  she  became 
afterwards , a  devotee,  being  sick  in  body  and  soul,  she 
was  not  disposed  to  dismiss  a  servant  who  had  always 
been  near  her  person,  and  knew,  tlierefore,  all  her  se- 
crets in  their  minutest  detail.  And,  besides,  Nadeska 
had  always  been  faithful  to  her,  and  even  made  many  a 
sacrifice  for  her.  Only  once,  in  one  of  the  most  serious 
difficulties  to  which  the  princess  had  been  exposed  by 
her  evil  inclinations,  had  she  suspected  her  of  having 
played  false.  But  Nadeska  had  sworn  by  all  the  saints 
of  the  almanac;  and  as  there  was  no  evidence  against 
her,  her  mistress  had  at  last  received  her  back  again  in 
her  favor. 

"  What  does  your  grace  desire  ?  "  asked  Nadeska,  in 
a  tone  of  voice  which  betrayed,  through  all  its  deep 
respectfulness,  a  certain  familiarity. 

"  Have  the  candles  lit  in  the  rooms,  Nadeska;  and.  you 
hear,  let  all  the  servants  be  called  together  to  receive  the 
ladies  in  the  great  hall.  Whom  will  }"Ou  give  them  for 
their  personal  attendants  t  " 

"  I  thought  Katinka,  Mademoiselle  Virginie ;  and, 
among  the  German  girls,  Mary  and  Louisa." 

"  Very  well.  You  will  receive  the  ladies  yourself  at 
the  door,  and  show  them  to  their  rooms." 

"  Has  your  grace  any  other  orders .-*  " 

"  No,  Nadeska." 

The  woman  courtesied  and  went  to  the  door.  When 
she  was  quite  near  it,  the  princess  called  her  back.  She 
came  again  to  her  chair. 

"  Did  you  notice  the  count  this  morning,  Nadeska  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  grace." 

"  Did  you  observe  anything  particular  ?  " 

"  He  looked  more  dandyish,  and  was  rouged  more 
than  formerly." 

"  Nothing  else  .'  " 

"No!  " 

"  Nadeska,  I  am  terribly  afraid  he  is  plotting  against  us." 

"  You   have  always  feared  so,  your  grace,  every  time 
the  prince  has  come  to  see  you  ;  and  you  are  especially 
afraid  now,  because  you  were  positive  he  would  not  ac- 
cept the  invitation  of  the  prince." 
21 


482  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Well,  does  it  not  look  like  mockery  that  he  is  com- 
ing? What  does  he  want  here  ?  But  that  is  not  all.  He 
asked  me  yesterday  again  for  an  enormous  sum  of 
money." 

"  Which  I  hope  you  gave  him." 

*'  No,  Nadeska ;  my  patience  is  exhausted,  as  well  as 
my  exchequer.  Michail  tells  me  he  cannot  procure  the 
money." 

"  He  must  get  it.     Consider  how  much  is  at  stake  !  " 

"  But  this  tyranny  is  intolerable  !  "  cried  the  princess, 
and  her  large  black  eyes  shone  in  the  reflex  of  the  fire 
like  burning  coals. 

Nadeska  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  What  can  you  do .-'  You  know  the  count  hates  you 
as  much  as  the  prince.  If  he  does  not  indulge  his  hate, 
and  if  he  does  not  utter  the  single  word  which  would 
part  mother  and  son  forever,  it  is  not  from  fear  of  the 
disgrace — when  has  the  count  ever  minded  disgrace  .'' — 
but  from  fear  of  poverty,  which  he  hates  still  more.  Let 
him  find  out  to-day  that  his  silence  is  to  be  no  longer 
profitable  to  him,  and  to-morrow  he  will  speak  !  " 

The  princess  knew  that  her  confidante  was  perfectly 
right,  and  she  groaned  like  a  tortured  prisoner,  pressing 
her  thin  hands  upon  each  other. 

"Oh,  Nadeska!  Nadeska!"  she  whined;  "why  did 
the  count  come  home  at  that  unlucky  moment !  Why 
did  you  leave  your  post  at  that  very  hour,  which  was  the 
decisive  hour  'i  If  I  had  only  had  five  minutes'  warning 
the  count  would  have  found  me  alone,  and  with  all  ihe 
suspicions  he  might  have,  there  would  have  been  no 
more  evidence  then  tlian  at  any  previous  time." 

Nadeska  was  standing  by  the  side  of  her  mistress  and 
a  little  back  of  her.  This  enabled  her  to  make  a  scorn- 
ful face  before  she  replied, 

"  Your  grace  will  pardon  me,  but  this  time  there  was 
evidence,  even  without  the  sudden  coming  of  the  count. 
It  was  certainly  an  ugly  accident  tliat  the  birth  of  the 
prince  took  place  just  nine  months  after  a  strange  man 
had  thrown  his  father  out  of  the  window  of  his  own  bed- 
room !  " 

The  remembrance  of  this  tracfi-comic  accident  dis- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  483 

pelled  for  a  moment  the  melancholy  of  the  princess. 
The  half-ludicrous,  half-horrible  scenes  of  that  mad  night 
passed  very  clearly  before  her  mind's  eye,  and  the  image 
of  the  hero  of  the  night — the  man  of  the  people,  whom 
she,  the  high-born  princess,  had  honored  so  highly — re- 
appeared to  her  as  he  had  appeared  then,  the  beau  ideal 
of  exuberant  \igor  and  manhood. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  is  still  alive  .'  "  she  asked,  quite  lost 
in  her  recollection. 

"  Who,  your  grace?  "  asked  Xadeska,  who  knew  per- 
fectly Avell  of  whom  her  mistress  was  thinking. 

The  princess  made  no  reply,  and  Nadeska  began  noise- 
lessly to  light  the  candles  in  all  the  rooms.  Gradually 
a  voluptuous  twilight  spread  over  the  salon  in  which 
the  princess  was,  which  grew  brighter  and  brighter 
without  losing  its  soft  characters,  for  all  the  lights  were 
burning  in  rosy  shades.  This  was  the  only  light  which 
the  irritable  nerves  of  the  princess  could  endure  ;  and 
even  during  the  day,  which  generally  only  began  for 
her  in  the  afternoon,  the  windows  were  invariably  dark- 
ened with  rosy  curtains.  Scoffers  maintained  that  the 
princess  avoided  a  bright  light  merely  because  her  faded 
features  and  injured  complexion  could  not  well  be  ex- 
posed to  bright  day-light. 

Nadeska  had  just  lighted  the  last  candle  when  the 
maid  on  duty  slipped  into  the  room  and  whispered 
something  into  her  ear,  for  no  message  was  brought 
directly  to  the  princess. 

"  What  is  it,  Nadeska  ?  "  asked  the  latter. 

"  The  count  wishes  to  see  you,"  replied  her  confidante. 

The  princess  trembled. 

"  What  can  he  want.'*  "  she  said.  "  He  ought  to  be  at 
the  railway  station." 

"  He  probably  mistook  the  hour." 

"  Maybe!     Let  him  come  ;   but  stay  in  the  room." 

Upon  a  nod  from  Nadeska  the  maid  went  out,  after 
waiting  humbly  at  the  door.  Immediately  a  gentleman 
entered  rapidly. 

He  was  a  tall,  slender  man,  dressed  with  exquisite 
taste,  who  looked  at  the  first  glance  as  if  he  might  be 
twenty-five,  and  grew  older  and  older  the  longer  one 


484  Throtigh  Night  to  Light. 

looked  at  him,  until  at  last  one  was  disposed  to  think 
him  sixty  years  old.  This  required,  however,  a  very 
careful  examination,  as  his  mask  was  finished  down  to  the 
minutest  details.  His  black  hair  and  brows,  his  curly 
beard,  his  snow-white  teeth,  his  round  shoulders  and 
full  hips,  were  triumphs  of  art ;  and  if  his  valet  had  been 
able  to  give  a  little  .lustre  to  his  eyes,  to  calm  the  par- 
alytic trembling-  of  his  hands,  and  to  remove  the  bad, 
tiny  wrinkles  which  lay  like  diminutive  snakes  around 
his  eyes.  Count  Ladislavis  Malikowsky  might  still  have 
been  a  dangerous  man  for  women,  at  least  for  a  certain 
class.  He  had  been  irresistible  when  a  young  man  ; 
but  now  nothing  was  left  him  of  his  youth  but  an  insa- 
tiate desire  for  enjoyment,  and  a  reckless  profligacy, 
which  went  hand  in  hand  with  ^  the  cool,  calculating 
prudence  of  old  age. 

This  disgusting  caricature  of  youth  approached  the 
princess,  kissed  lier  hand  courteously,  and  said,  while 
sinking  carefully  into  one  of  tlie  arm-chairs  before  the 
fire  : 

"  You  Avonder,  Alexandrina,  that  I  do  not  appear  with 
the  others " 

"Indeed  I  do." 

"  Do  not  think  it  a  want  of  consideration  for  the  be- 
trothed of  my  son" — the  count  uttered  the  last  word 
with  a  peculiar  accent,  and  never  without  showing  his 
false,  white  teeth — "  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  very  in- 
terest I  take  in  the  welfare  of  the  young  couple  wliich 
brings  me  here,  I  may  say,  out  of  breath.  A  discovery 
which  I  have  made — but,  Alexandrina,  may  I  beg  that 
that  person  may  leave  the  room  ;  my  communication  is 
strictly  confidential,"  whispered  the  count,  bending  over 
towards  the  princess. 

"  Leave  us  alone,  Nadeska  ;  but  stay  in  the  ante-room," 
said  the  princess. 

"  Alexandrina,"  said  the  covmt,  when  Nadeska  liad 
gone  into  the  adjoining  room  to  place  her  ear  to  the 
key-hole,  "you  were  not  disposed  yesterday  to  help  me 
in  ray  embarrassment.  I  have  lost  heavily  at  cards,  and 
my  exchequer  is  exhausted.  Well  I  might  have  been 
offended  by  your  refusal,  especially  considering  the  pe- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  485 

culiar  relations  existing  between  us.  But  for  my  person 
I  know  how  to  do  with  little,  and  I  should  not- like,  for 
anything  in  the  world,  to  be  troublesome  to  you,  or  to 
my  son  [here  the  white  teeth  actually  shone].  I  am  all 
the  more  sorry,  therefore,  to  have  to  appeal  once  more 
to  you,  not  for  myself  in  this  case,  but  for  one  who  has 
stronger  claims  than  I  have." 

"  I  am  not  so  fortunate  as  to  guess  even  the  meaning 
of  your  Avords,"  replied  the  princess,  sinking  back  into 
her  cliair  with  half-closed  eyes. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  count,  drawing  from  his  coat- 
pocket  a  letter,  which  lie  opened  slowly,  as  his  hands 
were  tightly  encased  in  close-fitting  kid-gloves — "  per- 
haps this  letter,  which  was  handed  me  half  an  hour  ago 
by  a  young  man,  may  give  you  the  desired  explanation. 
Permit  me  to  read  it  to  you." 

The  count  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  adjusted 
his  gold  eye-glasses  on  his  nose,  and  read,  glancing 
every  now  and  then  over  the  paper  at  the  princess : 

"  Most  noble  count : — At  a  moment  when  his  high- 
ness. Prince  Waldenberg,  is  bringing  home  his  fair 
betrothed,  the  Baroness  Helen  Grenwitz,  to  present  her 
to  his  mother,  the  princess,  it  cannot  be  but  desirable 
that  all  the  members  of  the  family  should  be  united  by 
that  harmony  without  which  even  less  important  fes- 
tivities are  often  very  sadly  interrupted.  You  yourself, 
most  noble  count,  have  set  an  example,  when  you  kindly 
dropped  a  veil  over  certain  events  which  took  place  in 
the  night,  from  the  21st  to  the  2 2d  November,  1820,  in 
the  Letbus  mansion  in  St.  Petersburg.  I  should  like  to 
follow  your  example,  if  circumstances  permitted.  But 
I  have  no  alternative,  and  see  myself  compelled  to  pre- 
sent my  business  personally  to  you,  or  to  trouble  certain 
persons  with  it,  who  have  special  reasons  for  keeping 
certain  matters  a  secret  from  his  highness  the  prince.  I 
beg  leave,  therefore,  to  address  myself  to  his  excellency, 
Count  Malikowsky,  as  the  most  suitable  person  for  an 
arrangement,  with  the  request  that  immediately  fifty 
thousand  roubles  in  silver  be  paid  me  by  his  bankers  in 
town;  if  not,  I  shall  see  myself  compelled  to  present  my 
request  in  person  to  his  highness  the  prince. 


486  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  In  the  meanwhile  (which  I  beg  to  limit  to  eight  days 
from  to-day)  I  remain,  etc.,  etc.,  etc., 

"Director  Caspar  Schmenckel,  from  Vienna. 

"  P.S. — If  you  should  prefer  to  negotiate  directly  with 
me,  I  may  be  found  every  evening  after  7  o'clock  in  the 
'Dismal  Hole,'  Gertrude  street,  No.  15.      The  same." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say,  Alexandrina.'  "  snarled  the 
count,  letting  his  eye-glass  drop,  and  putting  the  letter 
back  in  his  pocket. 

''  That  the  whole  thing  is  a  poor  invention  of  yours." 

"  C(^;/7w^;;/.? "  exclaimed  the  count,  with  an  astonish- 
ment which  was  not  affected  in  this  case. 

"  Do  you  really  think,  sir,"  said  the  princess,  trem- 
bling with  rage  and  secret  fear,  "  there  is  a  particle  of 
truth  in  the  whole  thing,  and  that  I  would  be  caught  in 
such  an  ill-made  snare.'  That  I  do  not  see  what  it  all 
means.-*  That  you  have  only  thought  of  this  impudent 
invention  because  I  am  unwilling  to  waste  the  rest  of 
my  fortune  upon  your  mad  dissipation  }  " 

"Really,  Alexandrina.  Hearing  you  speak  so,  one 
might  actually  believe  your  conscience  was  as  clean  as 
my  gloves.  Why,  you  are  blinded  by  anger,  my  dearest ! 
Please  observe,  this  letter  contains  things  of  which  I 
have  no  idea,  nor  can  have  an  idea,  e.  g.,  the  name  of  the 
good  man  in  question.  You  know  I  have  never  been 
so  happy  as  to  hear  yet  whose  blood  flows  in  the  veins 
of  my  son"  (the  count's  teeth  were  glittering  in  a  per- 
fectly frightful  manner) ;  "  and  besides,  you  have  an  in- 
fallible means  to  ascertain  the  genuineness  of  this  let- 
ter. Send  for  the  writer  !  Twenty-one  years  will  hardly 
have  changed  him  so  much  that  you  should  not  recog- 
nize him." 

"  You  think  I  am  not  going  to  do  that .''  You  are 
mistaken.  I  insist  upon  your  bringing  me  this  man  of 
straw,  with  whom  you  wish  to  frighten  me.  Give  mc 
the  letter." 

"  Arec  le  plus  grand  plaisir!''  replied  the  count. 
*' There  !  But,  Alexandrina,  I  hope  the  interview  will 
take  place  in  my  presence,  or  I  shall  not  be  able  to  con- 
tain myself  for  jealousy." 

"Devil!" 


Through  Night  to  Light.  487 

*' Oh,  my  angel  r  Do  you  call  the  man  so  to  whom 
you  owe  so  much?  " 

"Owe  so  much  ?  to  you?  I,  who  have  picked  you  up 
from  the  gutter  ?  " 

"  But  I  have  given  you  my  good  name." 

"  Good  name !  A  name  dragged  through  every  mean 
vice,  and  every  blackest  sin " 

"  And  )-et  good  enough  foi-  the  friend  and " 

"  Have  a  care !  " 

"  Why  ?  The  heavens  are  high,  and  the  czar  is  afar  off. 
But  you  are  quite  right  in  demanding  that  too  much  im- 
portance should  not  be  attached  to  this  connection. 
The  Avhole  world  knows  pretty  well  that,  in  some  re- 
spects, no  rank  or  position  came  amiss  to  you." 

"  That  goes,  too  far.     I " 

"  Keep  quiet,  ma  chhre !  I  hear  a  carriage  coming. 
No  doubt,  our  dear  ones.  We  must  give  them  an  ex- 
ample of  conjugal  love." 

****** 

It  was  perhaps  two  hours  later.  Helen  was  wander- 
ing restlessly  up  and  down  in  her  superb  room.  Na- 
deska  had  left  her,  and  the  baroness,  fatigued  by  the 
journey,  had  retired  to  her  chamber.  Helen  could  not 
sleep.  Her  soul  was  oppressed  by  an  indescribable 
anxiety,  which  was  all  the  more  painful  because  so 
vague.  She  felt  in  the  midst  of  all  the  splendor  by 
which  she  was  surrounded  like  a  child  in  an  enchanted 
castle,  where  in  every  corner  into  which  the  light  does 
not  penetrate  fully,  and  behind  every  silk  curtain  gently 
waving  in  a  current  of  air,  some  unspeakable  horror 
might  be  lurking.  Was  this  the  realization  of  her 
proudest  hopes  ?  She  could  not  get  rid  of  the  impression 
made  upon  her  by  her  reception  in  the  salon  of  the  prin- 
cess. She  still  felt  her  icy-cold  lips  on  her  forehead  ;  she 
still  saw  the  repulsive,  impudent  smile  of  tlie  count  and 
the  dark  frown  of  the  prince.  It  was  an  uncomfort- 
able spirit  that  dwelt  in  this  house.  And  she  had  sur- 
rendered Jierself  to  this  spirit;  she  had  sacrificed  to 
it  her  freedom,  her  young  girl's  dreams,  her  future! 
And  Vvhat  was  she  to  gain  in  return !  High  rank, 
great  wealth — how  little  all  that  seemed  to  her  at  this 


488  Through  Night  to  Light. 

moment!  How  willingly  she  would  have  given  it  all 
up  for  the  mere  shadow  of  the  unspeakable  happiness 
she  had  enjoyed  last  svimmer,  when  she  stepped  from 
her  cool  apartments  into  the  golden  morning  light  of 
the  park,  and  slowly  sauntered  about  between  the  bright 
flowers,  expecting  at  every  turn  around  a  shrub  or  a  bos- 
quet to  meet  Oswald  !  How  far,  how  irrecoverably  far, 
this  was  lying  behind  her  !  As  far  as  the  paradise  of 
her  childisli  years,  which  no  longing  of  ours,  no  return 
of  spring,  can  bring  back  to  us !  She  was  quite  sur- 
prised, herself,  that  all  her  thoughts  were  wandering 
back  to-day  to  Grenwitz  ;  that  a  thousand  little  scenes, 
which  she  thought  she  had  long  forgotten,  came  back  to 
her  now :  a  walk  with  Bruno  and  Oswald  through 
the  fields  when  the  evening  sun  was  hanging  low,  like  a 
"huge  ball  of  fire,  near  the  horizon,  and  bright  lights 
were  playing  fitfully  over  the  golden  grain,  while  the 
larks  were  jubilant  high  above  them  in  the  deep  blue  of 
the  heavens.  And  again,  one  hot  afternoon,  when  she 
had  f  lUen  asleep  on  a  bench  in  a  shady  avenue  in  the 
garden,  tired  by  the  monotonous  humming  and  whiz- 
zing of  insects,  she  awoke  at  the  moment  when  some- 
body— it  was  Bruno — was  placing  a  wreath  of  dark-red 
roses  on  her  head,  while  a  few  steps  from  them,  some- 
body else — it  was  Oswald — was  peeping  from  behind 
a  tree.  And  ever  it  was  Bruno  and  Oswald  who  gave 
life  to  the  idyllic  picture — Elysian  forms  in  Elysian 
fields.  Oh,  were  not  both  dead?  Helen  had  sulfered 
indescribably  when  Oswald's  elopement  with  Emily 
had  become  the  common  gossip  of  Grunwald;  for  only 
now,  Avhen  a  whole  world  parted  him  from  her,  she  felt 
how  dear  this  man  had  been  to  her.  She  tried,  it  is 
true,  to  master  her  passion  and  to  be  reconciled  to  her 
fate,  which  she  had  after  all  brought  upon  herself. 
But  she  caught  herself  only  too  frequently  comparing 
her  betrothed  with  Oswald,  a  comparison  which  invaria- 
bly resulted  in  the  conviction  that  the  former  lacked 
everything  which  had  made  Oswald  so  attractive :  tlie 
graceful,  elegant  carriage,  tlie  bright  and  yet  so  tender 
eyes,  the  deep  voice  with  its  gentle  music,  the  ever- 
changing  and  ever-interesting  expression  of  his  lace. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  489 

She  had  never  felt  as  deeply  as  this  evenins^  how  little 
her  heart  had  to  say  to  her  betrothed.  She  recollected 
with  a  shudder  that  when  the  drums  had  beat  in  the 
streets,  when  the  war  of  the  excited  multitude  had  been 
heard  from  afar,  and  the  prince  had  started  up  to  hasten 
to  his  post,  she  had  felt  only  that  this  gave  her  a  good 
opportunity  to  retire  to  her  rooms. 

And  the  poor  girl's  heart  grew  heavier  and  her  eyes 
dimmer.  She  tliought  she  was  thoroughly  wretched  ; 
she  pitied  herself  that  she  was  so  alone  and  had  no  one 
to  share  her  sorrow.  But  had  she  not  prepared  her  iso- 
lation herself .''  Had  she  not  repelled  good  people,  who 
had  come  to  her  with  open  hearts,  by  her  cool  politeness  ? 
How  she  now  wished  for  good  old  Miss  Bear ;  for  clever, 
cordial  Sophie  Roban  !  But  was  not  Sophie  in  town  } 
Might  she  not  look  up  the  friend  whom  she  had  so 
sadly  neglected  during  the  last  days  in  Grunwald .'' 
Helen  clung  to  this  thought,  while  she  hid  her  beavitiful 
face  in  the  silken  cushions; — proud  Helen  !  who  looked 
as  if  she  could  go  on  her  path,  lonely,  like  a  bright 
star,  unconcerned  about  the  doings  of  poor  men  far 
down  in  their  humble  huts  ! 


CHAPTER     XI. 

THE  excitement  in  town  grew  daily.  In  vain  were 
troops  massed  by  whole  brigades,  and  held  ready 
day  and  night  in  their  barracks  ;  in  vain  every 
assembly  Avas  dispersed  with  the  bayonet,  and  the  loud- 
est criers  arrested.  Every  day  brought  new  and  more 
serious  disturbances.  The  assemblages  of  the  people, 
especially  on  tlie  large  public  squares  hear  the  palace, 
became  more  formidable ;  the  threatening  cries  and 
whistlings  and  cheers  of  the  masses  were  heard  more 
frequently ;  and  the  soldiers,  maddened  by  their  incessant 
duties,  could  less  and  less  resist  the  terribly  provoking 
irritation.  Paving  stones  on  one  side,  and  drawn 
21* 


49©  Through  Night  to  Light. 

swords  on  the  other,  encountered  each  other  daily  and 
hourly.  The  number  of  more  or  less  seriously  wounded 
persons  which  were  carried  to  the  public  hospitals  had 
become  considerable.  The  last  evening  had  been  espe- 
cially fearful.  A  detachment  of  cuirassiers  of  the  guards, 
galloping  forward  with  loose  reins  and  drawn  swords, 
had  driven  a  large  crowd  of  people  into  one  of  the 
smaller  streets  that  opened  upon  the  square  near  the 
palace,  and  at  the  other  end  a  picket  of  dragoons  pre- 
vented escape.  There  ensued  a  scene  of  fearful  confu- 
sion and  consternation  in  the  crowd,  thus  hemmed  in  on 
both  sides,  while  the  men  were  forcing  their  horses 
pitilessly  into  the  thickest,  striking  right  and  left  with 
their  heavy  swords.  The  howl  of  anguish  of  women 
and  children,  mingled  with  the  cries  of  rage  of  the  men, 
and  the  curses  of  the  soldiers,  while  imprecations  and 
threats  came  down  from  the  windows  of  the  houses, 
where  peaceful  men  were  frightened  at  their  quiet 
work.  The  commotion  quickly  spread  further  and  fur- 
ther, and  even  in  remote  parts  of  the  city  groups  were 
formed  in  the  streets,  when  the  report  came  that  the  im- 
perial city  on  the  Danube,  generally  looked  upon  as 
thoughtless  and  frivolous,  had  had  a  complete  revolution, 
and  that  the  oldest  master  of  diplomacy,  the  cunning 
ruler  of  a  whole  generation  of  men,  had  at  last  been 
driven  from  the  scene  of  his  triumphs.  A  thousand 
cheers  arose  when  the  good  news  was  proclaimed,  and 
the  great  results  which  a  month  before  would  have  been 
looked  upon  as  impossible,  were  made  known  in  detail. 
They  asked  one  another  why  they  should  submit  any 
longer  to  misrule  and  ill-treatment  by  a  privileged 
caste,  if  it  required  but  a  firm  resolve  to  establish  free- 
dom and  equality  among  them. 

While  thus  even  the  most  indifferent  were  gradually 
drawn  into  the  whirlpool  of  the  revolution,  one  man  sat 
in  apathetic  calmness  in  his  room,  unconcerned  about 
what  was  going  on  around  him. 

When  Oswald  returned  the  night  before,  after  wan- 
dering aimlessly  through  the  crowded  streets,  and  found 
his  room  empty  and  Emily's  letter  on  the  table,  he  had 
laughed  out  so  loud  that  an  old   lady  who  had    been 


Through  Night  to  Light.  491 

living  next  door  for  twelve  years  was  frightened  out  of 
her  first  slumbers.  Then  he  had  thrown  himself  on  the 
sofa.  He  was  too  wearied  and  exhausted  to  be  able  to 
sleep.  But  after  a  while  he  started  up  with  a  cry.  He 
had  dreamt  that  he  was  walking  with  Emily  arm  in  arm 
by  the  side  of  a  precipice,  whispering  of  love  and  caress- 
ing her  hand,  and  suddenly  she  had  fallen  away  from 
his  side  down  into  the  deep,  from  rock  to  rock  into 
fearfid  abysses,  from  which  now  cries  for  help  and 
groans  of  anguish  were  rising  up  to  him.  Oswald  tried 
in  vain  to  shake  off  the  horrible  image  ;  it  had  imprinted 
itself  too  deeply  on  his  over-excited  mind.  He  Avould 
have  sought  rest  and  oblivion  in  sleep,  but  he  felt  no 
longer  tired.  A  thousand  thoughts  and  images  were 
chasing  each  other  wildly  through  his  head,  and  he 
found  himself  unable  to  lay  the  weird  ghosts.  He  could 
only  look  on.  Scenes  of  former  days  ran  into  events  of 
recent  date,  and  the  fat  gentleman  who  had  been  in 
their  coupe  from  the  last  station  suddenly  changed  into 
the  public  crier  of  his  native  town,  whose  big  bell  he 
had  followed  often  as  a  boy. 

Oswald  made  a  violent  effort  to  rouse  himself  He 
rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the  fire  to  be  rekindled. 
Then  he  sat  down  before  the  blaze  and  recalled  the  first 
evenings  at  Paris,  as  they  were  sitting  in  their  modest 
lodgings  in  the  fifth  story  of  a  house  in  the  Quartier 
Latin  before  the  fire-place,  and  congratulated  each  other 
that  at  last  they  were  "at  home."  They  had  tried  to 
make  each  other  forget  their  troubles  and  anxieties  by 
jesting  and  caressing,  and  forming  a  hundred  bright 
plans  for  the  future.  But  the  golden,  hopeful  future 
had  become  a  dark,  comfortless  present;  the  jests  had 
ceased,  and  the  caresses  had  become  colder  and  colder. 
And  then  came  evenings  when  Oswald  came  home  out  of 
sorts  and  out  of  temper,  having  in  vain  called  upon  pub- 
lishers who  "  could  not  avail  themselves  of"  his  manu- 
scripts; when  he  found  Emily  in  tears,  and  had  to  tell 
himself  that  he  and  he  only  was  responsible  for  these 
tears.  Then  came  wretched  scenes,  when  regret  at 
their  own  folly  sought  concealment  under  reproaches 
and  accusations  of  fickleness  and  heartlessness,  and  the 


492  Through  Night  to  Light. 

tender  little  flower  of  love  was  ruthlessly  trodden  under 
foot  in  the  fierce  encounter.  And  yet  it  had  always  been 
Emilv  who,  good-natured  and  light-hearted  as  she  was, 
and  full  of  tender  love  for  Oswald,  had  offered  her  hand 
to  make  peace.  "  I  do  not  reproach  you,"  she  had  often 
said  ;  "  I  should  be  perfectly  happy  if  I  could  but  see 
you  happy.  But  to  see  you  unhappy,  and  unhappy 
through  my  fault,  that  makes  me  wretched."  Had  she 
spoken  the  truth  1  Oswald  had  then  doubted  it ;  now 
an  inner  voice  told  him  that  it  was  so,  and  that  she 
would  never  have  left  him  if  he  had  not  driv^en  her 
from  him.  He  took  the  letter  he  had  found  on  the  table 
and  stared  at  the  "  Dear,  dear  Oswald  !  "  written  by 
Emily's  trembling  hand,  and  then  marked  out  by  another 
hand,  and  the  two  stains  on  the  paper — the  trace  of  tears 
she  had  wept  at  parting  with  him.  Oswald  dropped 
the  letter  into  the  fire,  and  groaned  aloud  as  he  saw  how 
eagerly  it  seized  the  paper  and  consumed  it,  and  the  hot 
draft  carried  away  the  black  ashes.  So  there  was  an 
end  of  that  also. 

And  as  he  sat  staring  into  the  smouldering  embers,  his 
head  resting  in  his  hand,  the  fever  spirits  began  their 
mad  dance  once  more.  Faces  of  marvellous  beauty 
looked  at  him  Avith  large,  loving  eyes,  and  then  changed 
in  a  moment  into  grinning  negro  grimaces ;  Rector 
Clemens  and  Professor  Snellius  came  walking  solemnly 
in  grave  converse  and  broke  it  off  abruptly  to  dance  a 
wild  Mazurka  ;  Melitta,  Helen,  and  Emily  floated  by  on 
a  rosy  cloud  which  changed  into  dismal  rain,  and  the 
three  witches  of  Macbeth  were  shaking  their  snaky  locks. 
Thus  the  whole  wearisome  night  passed  away.  When 
twilight  began  to  peep  in  at  the  windows  tiie  spirits 
grew  paler  and  paler.  Oswald  opened  a  window  and  let 
the  cool  morning  air  plfty  around  liis  heated  temples.  This 
refreshed  him  somewliat.  But  as  tiie  streets  began  to  be- 
come more  lively  he  closed  the  window  again  and  let 
down  the  curtains  ;  he  wanted  to  see  and  to  hear  noth- 
ing of  life,  for  he  hated  life. 

Emily's  escape  had  hardly  been  noticed  in  the  house. 
The  only  one  who  knew  more  about  it,  the  porter,  felt 
no  disposition  to  speak  about  it,  as  he  was  not  quite  sure 


Through  Night  to  Light.  493 

of  his  own  share  in  the  matter.  It  was  thought,  there- 
fore, that  the  lady  had  not  been  tlie  gentleman's  wife,  as 
was  first  believed,  but  his  sister,  and  that  the  other  gen- 
tleman who  had  come  for  her  had  been  her  husband. 
The  times,  moreover,  were  too  eventful  to  leave  much 
room  for  such  small  matters. 

Such  were  Mrs.  Captain  Black's  ideas  when  she  called 
next  day  at  noon  on  Oswald,  after  the  custom  of  the 
house.  For  it  was  the  lady's  notion  that  she  ought  to 
inquire  in  person  after  the  welfare  and  the  wishes  of 
those  of  her  guests  who  seemed  to  propose  staying  there 
for  some  time.  This  was  partlv  a  matter  of  courtesy 
with  her,  and  partly  prompted  by  her  good  old  heart. 
She  had  a  twofold  interest  in  Oswald.  The  young  man's 
appearance,  the  expression  of  his  eyes,  and  the  tone  of 
his  voice,  had  struck  her,  and  reminded  her  wonderfully 
of  long  by-gone  days,  and  of  a  person  whom  she  had 
loved  tenderly  and  whose  loss  she  had  never  yet  been 
able  to  forget.  Then  the  young  man  came  direct  from 
France,  from  where  that  unfortunate  young  friend  had 
also  come,  and  where  she  had  probably  died.  It  is  true 
the  poor  girl  had  never  given  a  sign  of  life,  and  it  was 
highly  improbable  therefore  that  she  was  still  alive,  but 
that  did  not  keep  Mrs.  Black  from  feeling  glad  whenever 
a  Frenchman  came  to  her  house,  as  it  looked  like  another 
chance  to  hear  something  of  the  poor  girl. 

Tiie  good  old  lady  was,  therefore,  not  a  little  aston-  , 
ished  and  grieved  when  she  saw  how  pale  and  haggard 
Oswald  looked  this  morning,  a  mere  shadow  of  the 
stately  young  man  of  last  night.  He  had  had  a  bad 
night  to  be  sure.  It  must  have  been  a  very  bad  night 
to  pull  down  a  young  man  so  grievously.  Should  she 
send  for  the  doctor  .'*  No .''  But  a  cup  of  strong  beef 
tea  with  an  q^^  stirred  in  ?  Queh  dites  v-oiis.  Monsieur  7 
The  good  old  lady  tripped  away  to  attend  to  the  beef 
tea  herself,  as  no  one  else  could  make  it  as  well.  And 
while  she  was  busy  about  it  she  shook  her  gray  head 
again  and  again,  because  Monsieur  Oswald — the  stranger 
had  given  that  name — spoke  German  so  very  well,  and 
looked  so  very  sick  and  unhappy,  and  yet  had  some  re- 
semblance to  the  lost  one.     Her  eyes  filled  with  tears, 


494  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  she  decided  to  ask  him  about  the  cause  of  his  grief 
at  the  risk  of  being  considered  indiscreet. 

With  this  desire  she  entered  Oswald's  room  once 
more  and  found  the  young  man  in  the  same  position  in 
which  she  had  left  him.  He  was  sitting  on  the  sofa,  his 
arms  crossed  on  his  bosom,  his  eyes  staring  fixedly  at 
an  old  French  engraving,  in  which  Andromeda  was 
represented  chained  to  the  rock  and  guarded  by  a 
dragon,  while  Perseus  was  coming  through  the  air  to 
her  rescue,  wdth  the  gorgon's  head  in  his  hand.  He 
had  noticed  the  picture  in  the  early  twilight,  and  long 
tried  to  find  out  in  the  imperfect  light  what  it  could 
mean,  till  at  last,  as  day  broke,  he  found  it  out.  The 
engraving  Avas  extravagant,  as  most  pictures  of  that 
epoch.  Andromeda  was  rather  too  small,  a  mere  child 
in  comparison  with  the  very  tall  and  slender  hero,  who 
was  just  putting  one  foot  on  the  rock  and  preparing  to 
strike  a  blow  at  the  monster,  which  opened  its  huge 
mouth  wide  and  stared  at  him  with  basilisk  eyes.  Still, 
it  was  not  without  merit  in  the  conception,  nor  without 
delicacy  in  the  execution.  The  spark  of  hope  which 
appeared  in  the  girl's  eves  and  the  whole  of  her  childish, 
beautiful  features,  and  the  heroic  indignation  in  the  face 
of  the  youth,  were  well  rendered  ;  while  the  landscape 
— a  lonely  rock  in  the  boundless  ocean,  with  the  sun 
rising  above  the  horizon  and  the  first  rays  trembling  on 
the  waves  up  to  the  rock — showed  something  of  Claude 
Lorrain's  cheerful  vigor  and  grandeur.  Oswald  had 
looked  at  the  picture  again  and  again  with  a  feeling  of 
painful  sadness.  The  beautiful  meaning  of  the  ancient 
myth — that  bold  courage  carries  the  happy  possessor 
with  god-like  wings  over  land  and  sea,  that  the  hero  over- 
comes danger  by  a  mere  glance,  and  finally  that  for 
him  alone  there  blooms  the  sweet  flower  of  love  and 
beauty  on  the  rude  rock  in  the  vast  inhospitable  ocean 
of  life — all  this  had  reminded  the  dreamer  painfully  of 
what  he  also  had  already  called  his  own  of  love  and 
beauty ;  but  only,  alas  !  to  lose  it  in  a  short  time  and 
forever,  forever! 

Even  now — when  Mrs.  Black  at  his  request  took  a 
seat  on  the  sofa,  and  told  him  all   she  knew  about  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  495 

excitement  in  the  city,  the  bloody  scenes  which  had 
taken  place  last  night  quite  near  by,  in  Brother  street, 
the  large  assemblies  of  people  Unter  den  Linden,  and 
the  sad  times  in  which  everything  seemed  to  be  turned 
upside  down — even  now  Oswald  could  not  take  his  eyes 
from  the  picture.     The  old  lady  noticed  it  and  said : 

"  Yes  !  It  Avas  just  so  twenty-five  years  ago  !  It  used 
to  belong  to  a  countryman  of  yours,  a  dear  old  gentle- 
man who  has  lived  here  many  years,  and  whom  I  loved 
like  a  brother.     The  picture  is  here,  but  he " 

She  sighed  so  grievously  that  Oswald,  whom  his  own 
sorrow  had  not  made  insensible  to  the  sorrows  of  others, 
asked  her  kindly : 

"  He  died,  the  old  gentleman,  did  he.''" 

''  I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  old  lady.  "  He  went  into 
the  wide  world  in  order  to  save  a  girl  whom  I  had 
brought  up  as  my  own  cliild ;  a  sweet,  lovely  creature ; 
but  he  did  not  come  back,  and  she  did  not  come  back, 
and  I  grieve  over  my  loss,  although  it  is  now  nearly 
twenty-five  years  old.  Have  you,  monsieur — ah !  it  is 
foolish  in  me  to  ask,  but  after  all  nothing  is  impossible 
in  this  world — have  you,  monsieur,  ever  heard  anything 
of  a  Mademoiselle  Marie  Montbert  and  a  Monsieur 
d'Estein.'*  " 

The  old  lady  had  asked  the  question  so  often,  and  re- 
ceived so  often  nothing  but  a  curt:  Non  madame !  in 
reply,  that  she  scarcely  noticed  Oswald's  regretful  shake 
of  the  head,  and  continued  with  animation : 

"  Ah,  I  knew  it  was  so  !  No  one  ever  heard  of  them. 
The  world  is  so  large,  and  there  are  so  many  people  in 
it !  And  in  this  great  world  and  this  multitude  of  people 
how  soon  are  two  unhappy  beings  forgotten  !  " 

The  manner  of  the  old  lady  was,  with  all  her  ingen- 
uousness, so  refined  and  dignified;  tlie  deep-sunk  eyes, 
still  full  of  expression,  looked  so  gentle  and  kind;  and 
her  voice  had  such  a  true,  good  sound,  that  Oswald  felt 
strangely  moved,  and  begged  her  with  cordial  warmth  to 
tell  him  something  more  about  the  two  persons  whose  un- 
happy fate  she  deplored  so  painfully  after  so  long  a  time. 

Mrs.  Black  smoothed  her  black -silk  apron,  and  told 
him  in  simple  words  a  simple,  touching  story. 


496  Through  Night  to  Light. 

Hqr  husband,  a  brave  but  -wild  and  reckless  man,  had 
compelled  her  for  years  before  he  lost  his  life  on  the 
battle-field  of  Waterloo  to  provide  for  her  ov/n  support. 
She  had  taken  lodgings  in  the  rear  part  of  the  building 
■which  she  now  owned,  and  rented  out  the  larger  part  of 
the  rooms  to  single  gentlemen.  She  had  always  tried  to 
keep  up  pleasant  relations  with  her  "  foster-children," 
but  with  none  of  them  had  she  been  on  as  friendly  a 
footing  as  with  a  certain  Monsieur  d'Estein,  a  descend- 
ant of  French  refugees,  who  supported  himself  by  giv- 
ing lessons  in  the  tongue  of  his  ancestors.  Monsieur 
d'Estein  was  an  old  bachelor  of  kind  heart  but  very 
eccentric,  who  had  fallen  out  with  the  whole  world,  and 
yet  shared  his  last  mouthful  of  bread  with  any  one  who 
asked  him  for  it.  He  had  his  own  ideas  about  every- 
thing, and  brooded  constantly  over  plans  how  to  over- 
throw the  whole  world,  while  he  led  all  the  time  a  most 
simple,  harmless  life. 

Monsieur  d'Estein  had  been  living  with  her  several 
years  and  had  become  a  warm  friend  of  hers,  who  lis- 
tened patiently  to  all  her  complaints  about  hard  times 
and  domestic  troubles,  when  one  fine  day  a  Colonel 
Montbert,  of  the  French  army,  came  and  called  on  his 
relation,  Monseiur  d'Estein.  The  colonel  was  under 
orders  for  Russia — it  was  in  181 2 — and  he  was  accom- 
panied by  a  little  daughter  of  eight,  a  lovely  child,  whom 
the  father  loved  tenderly,  and  perhaps  all  the  more  ten- 
derly as  she  stood  perfectly  alone  in  the  world,  and  had 
no  one  on  earth  to  love  and  protect  her  except  her 
father.  Until  now  she  had  followed  the  colonel  in 
all  his  campaigns,  but  the  brave  old  soldier  trembled  at 
the  idea  of  exposing  his  only  treasure  to  the  dangers  of 
a  winter  campaign,  the  results  of  which  he  might  even 
then  have  anticipated.  As  he  had  been  in  Berlin  in 
1807,  and  had  then  made  Monseiur  d'Estein's  acquaint- 
ance, he  came  now  once  nioi-e  to  ask  him  to  take  care 
of  Marie  till  he  returned;  and  if  he  should  not  return, 
there  were  the  family  papers,  and  a  large  sum  of  money 
in  gold  and  bills  of  exchange;  and  tlie  friends  looked 
at  each  other  and  shook  hands.  The  colonel  kissed  his 
little  girl,  promised  to  bring  her  a  sleigh  with  two  rein- 


Through  JVight  to  Light.  497 

deer  from  Russia,  kissed  her  once  more,  cried  :  Adieu, 
ma  chcrc  !  Adieu,  via  petite  !  mounted  his  horse  and  was 
gone. 

Colonel  Montbert  never  fulfdlcd  his  promise  about 
the  sleigh  and  the  reindeer.  His  little  girl  waited  and 
waited  for  the  sleigh  and  the  father  till  she  was  a  tall 
young  lady,  but  sleigh  and  father  never  came. 

Marie  had  grown  up  a  tall,  fair  girl,  so  beautiful 
that  the  whole  neighborhood  called  her,  unanimously, 
pretty  ^Nlarie.  She  was  a  good  girl  to»,  with  a  good 
heart,  that  could  be  merry  with  the  joyous  and  weep 
Avith  the  sorrowful.  Her  only  fault  was  an  over-active 
imagination,  a  fondness  of  strange  extraordinary  things 
— an  inheritance  from  her  father,  the  French  colonel  of 
cavalry,  whose  adventurous,  fantastic  disposition  Mon- 
sieur d'Estein  said  approached  very  near  to  insanity. 

This  peculiarity  of  the  girl  caused  much  anxiety  to 
Monsieur  d'Estein  and  to  Mrs.  Black,  but  especially  to 
the  former,  whose  plain,  straight-forward  mind  was  ut- 
terly averse  to  everything  irrational  or  fantastic.  "  The 
girl  ought  to  have  no  time  for  dreams,"  he  used  to  say ; 
"  she  must  learn  to  think  and  to  act.  She  ought  to  have 
a  counterpoise  to  her  gay  dream-world  in  the  prosaic 
reality  of  life.  No  man  ought  to  live  in  castles  in  the 
air."  Accordinig  to  these  views  he  sketched  out  a  plan 
of  education  for  little  Marie,  with  which  Mrs.  Black 
never  could  fully  agree,  in  spite  of  the  unbounded  re- 
spect she  had  for  Monsieur  d'Estein's  intelligence  and 
cliaracter.  Marie  was  to  dress  in  the  simplest  way,  like 
the  children  of  humble  mechanics  ;  she  was  to  learn 
every  kind  of  domestic  labor  :  and  when  she  was  grown 
up  Monsieur  d'Estein  carried  his  oddity  so  far  that  he 
sent  her  to  a  respectable  milliner.  "  One  could  never 
know  how  that  might  become  useful  to  her  in  after  life." 
Mrs.  Black  shook  her  head,  but  she  could  not  be  angry 
at  tlie  old  gentleman's  odd  notions  when  she  saw  how 
well  he  meant  it,  and  especially  how  successful  he  was. 
For  the  girl  grew  brigiiter  and  fairer  every  day,  and 
looked,  in  her  simple  calico  dress  and  her  plain  straw 
bonnet,  as  refined  and  as  distinguished  as  the  greatest 
lady  in  the  land. 


498  Through  Night  to  Light. 

Mrs.  Black  was  proud  of  the  girl.  She  had  never  had 
any  children  of  her  own,  but  she  felt  as  if  she  could  never 
have  loved  one  of  her  own  better.  And  was  she  not  the 
child's  mother  1  Had  she  not  watched  over  her  in  health, 
and  nursed  her  in  sickness  1  And  was  the  girl  not  as 
fondly  attached  to  her  as  a  daughter  could  be  to  a 
mother .'  Mrs.  Black  was  almost  jealous  of  this  love 
(she  had  had  so  little  love  in  her  life)  and  did  not  like  it 
that  Marie  had  not  evidently  more  confidence  in  her  than 
in  her  adopted -father.  But  the  latter  was,  for  his  part, 
not  less  jealous.  Mrs.  Black  even  sometimes  suspected 
that  monsieur  was  cherishing  very  different  feelings  for 
his  beautiful  neice,  as  he  called  her,  from  those  of  an 
uncle  for  his  neice,  and  that  his  system  of  education, 
Avhich  confined  Marie  very  strictly  to  the  house,  might 
have  been  prompted  by  other  than  pedagogic  considera- 
tions. Monsieur  was  at  that  time  only  forty  years  old. 
It  was  the  mere  shadow  of  a  suspicion,  but  subsequent 
events  gave  it  strength. 

One  evening — it  was  a  Sunday — monsieur  returned 
from  his  promenade  with  Marie  very  much  out  of  tem- 
per. Marie  also  looked  excited,  and  showed  traces  of 
tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes.  She  went  to  bed  as  soon  as 
supper  was  over,  and  Mrs.  Black  begged  monsieur  to 
tell  her  what  had  happened,  till  he  at  last  consented. 

Marie  and  he  had  been  walking  up  and  down  in  the 
long  avenues  of  the  public  park,  chatting  cozily  with 
each  other,  and  had  then  gone  into  one  of  the  public 
gardens,  there  to  order  some  refreshments  for  Marie  and 
himself.  They  had  just  taken  their  seats  at  a  table 
when  two  gentlemen,  who  had  before  been  sitting  at  a 
distance,  had  come  and  taken  seats  near  them.  Mon- 
sieur, who  turned  his  back  to  them,  had  not  noticed 
them,  and  only  became  aware  of  their  presence  when  he 
saw  Marie,  who  was  talking  to  him,  cast  half-curious, 
half-embarrassed  glances  at  somebody  behind  him.  He 
turned  round  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  At  the  same 
moment  one  of  the  gentlemen  approached  tlieir  table. 
He  was  a  remarkably  handsome  man — monsieur  could 
not  deny  that,  in  spite  of  his  irritation — a  lofty,  noble 
figure,   a   superb  head,   a   fine   though    somewhat   ex- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  499 

haiisted  face,  large  deep-blue  eyes,  with  a  haughty  and 
yet  kindly  expression.  He  lifted  his  hat  and  in  very 
good  French — monsieur  and  Marie  had  as  usualh-  con- 
versed in  Fi-ench — he  asked  leave  for  himself  and  his 
companion  to  join  their  company.  Monsieur  was  the 
most  courteous  man  in  the  world,  but  he  said  there 
had  been  something  in  the  manner  of  the  distinguished 
stranger  which  had  filled  him  instantly  with  a  violent 
aversion  against  him,  and  he  had  therefore  replied 
dryly  and  curtly  that  he  and  mademoiselle  preferred  re- 
maining alone.  Thereupon  a  slight  altercation  between 
him  and  the  stranger  had  taken  place,  which  ended  in 
his  rising  and  leaving  the  garden  Avith  Marie,  pursued 
by  the  scornful  laugh  of  the  two  gentlemen.  From 
that  evening  Marie  showed  a  decided  change  in  her 
whole  manner.  Formerly  gay  and  cheerful,  she  now 
hung  her  head,  turned  pale  and  red  by  turns,  was  at  one 
time  immoderately  merry  and  at  anoiher  time  wretch- 
edly sad.  Neither  Mrs.  IBlack  noi  monsieur  knew  what 
to  make  of  it.  Misfortune  would  have  it  that  monsieur 
must  be  taken  sick  just  then,  so  that  Mrs.  Black  had  to 
spend  nearly  her  whole  time  in  his  room  nursing  him, 
and  Marie  consequently  was  left  much  to  herself 
Formerly  monsieur  had  regularly  gone  for  her  to  the 
place  where  she  learnt  her  profession  ;  now  she  had  to 
come  home  alone.  What  happened  to  her  during  these 
days,  into  what  snares  she  had  fallen,  Mrs.  Black  never 
found  it  out.  But  one  morning,  when  she  came  to  wake 
the  poor  girl,  she  found  the  room  empty,  and  a  little 
note  on  the  table,  in  which  the  unfortunate  child  stated 
that  irresistible  reasons,  Avhich  she  could  not  now  explain, 
compelled  her  to  leave  town  ;  that  she  begged  her  bene- 
factors with  tears  in  her  eyes  to  forgive  her  if  she  re- 
warded them  for  their  great  love  with  apparent  ingrati- 
tude, and  that  she  hoped  to  God  the  day  would  come, 
and  come  soon,  on  Avhich  all  this  sorrow  would  be 
changed  into  joy. 

That  day  had  never  come,  but  the  poor  lady  had  suffered 
more  and  more.  Monsieur  had  nearly  lost  liis  senses 
when  he  heard  of  Marie's  escape,  and  had  sworn  a  fear- 
ful oath  that  he  would  not  rest  an  hour  till  he  had  res- 


500  Through  Night  to  Light. 

cued  Marie  from  her  miserable  seducer  and  personally 
avenged  himself  on  the  man.  Monsieur  was  the  man 
to  keep  his  word.  The  little  weakly  body  harbored  an 
energetic  soul.  This  became  evident  now,  when  a  ruth- 
less hand  had  cruelly  destroyed  the  happiness  of  his 
life.  For  Mrs.  Black  could  now  no  longer  doubt  that 
the  strange  man  had  loved  the  lost  one  with  all  that  in- 
tense passionatenes^w'hich  is  so  often  found  in  such  re- 
served, eccentric  characters.  He  carried  on  his  search 
with  restless  activity.  Success  crowned  his  efforts.  He 
found  traces.  Where  they  led  him  1  He  said  nothing 
about  it,  but  observed  tlie  strictest  silence  upon  the 
whole  affair,  even  to  his  friend,  Mrs.  Black.  He  packed 
his  trunks  as  if  for  a  long  journey,  tore  himself  from 
her,  promising  to  send  her  news  in  a  week — and  now 
twenty-five  years  had  passed,  and  Mrs.  Black  was  still 
waiting  for  a  fulfilment  of  that  promise.  .  .  . 

The  old  lady  had  so  completely  abandoned  herself  to 
her  own  recollections  that  she  had  forgotten  her  first 
intention  to  inquire  after  Oswald's  troubles.  She  was 
only  reminded  of  this  when  she  noticed  how  pale  the 
young  stranger's  face  had  become  during  her  recital. 

"  But  you  are  really  worse  than  I  thought,  dear  sir," 
she  said.  "  Your  hand  is  burning  hot,  and — pardon  an 
old  lady — your  forehead  also  is  hot.  Let  me  send  for 
my  physician  !  " 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  do  it,"  said  Oswald,  making  a  vio- 
lent effort.  "  I  must  tell  you  :  I  have  not  slept  a  mo- 
ment all  last  night,  probably  from  over-fatigue  during 
my  long  jovirney." 

"  Then  you  ought  at  least  to  lie  down  for  a  few  hours," 
begged  the  old  lady.  "  I  know  very  well  young  people 
cannot  do  without  sleep  like  us  old  people." 

"  I  mean  to  do  it,"  replied  Oswald,  as  Mrs.  Black  rose. 
"  You'll  see  a  few  hours'  sleep  will  set  it  all  right  again." 

"  God  grant  it !  "  said  the  old  lady,  cordially  pressing 
Oswald's  hand  once  more.  "  Pray,  pray,  no  ceremony! 
I  will  inquire  again  a  few  hours  hence." 

Wluit  liad  he  been  told  just  now.?  At  the  very  first 
words  of  the  old  lady  he  had  no  longer  doubted  tliat 
this   was  the  continuation  of  the   story  which   mother 


Through  Night  to  Light.  501 

Claus  had  told  him  in  Grcnwitz  that  evening  when  he 
and  Timm  had  sought  shelter  in  her  hut.  All  the  details 
agreed.  Just  as  the  old  lady  had  described  the  strange 
gentleman,  the  portrait  of  Baron  Harald  looked  now, 
out  of  its  broad  gold  frame ;  and  had  not  the  beautiful 
poor  girl,  whom  he  had  so  sadly  ill-treated,  borne  the 
name  of  Marie  d'Estein,  like  the  adopted  daughter  of 
Monsieur  d'Estein  } 

But  that  was  not  the  reason  why  his  blood  froze  in  his 
veins  and  his  limbs  shook  as  in  violent  fever.  It  was 
another  terrible  fear,  which  rose  with  demoniac  power 
from  the  lowest  depths  of  his  soul.  Was  it  the  work  of 
fever  spirits — was  it  incipient  insanity — which  changed 
in  his  inflamed  imagination  Monsieur  d'Estein,  the  ec- 
centric teacher  of  languages,  into  his  father,  the  strange 
old  man  .'  and  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  French  col- 
onel into  the  lovely  young  woman  with  the  sweet  eyes, 
around  whose  knees  he  once  used  to  play  during  bright 
summer  mornings  in  the  cosy  garden  behind  the  town 
wall,  while  the  white  butterflies  were  fluttering  about 
the  blue  larkspur .'' 

And  mad  tlioughts  chased  each  other  once  more  in 
wild  haste.  Old,  long  forgotten  thoughts  awoke  and 
answered  clearly  from  long  ago;  strange  doubts,  that 
had  troubled  him  as  a  boy  and  as  a  youth,  came  again, 
and  said  :  There  is  the  solution  !  So  much  that  he  had 
never  been  able  to  explain  in  his  life  became  of  a  sud- 
den quite  clear  to  him.  It  had  not  been  pure  fancy, 
then,  which  made  Mother  Claus  see  in  his  face  contin- 
vially  Baron  Oscar's  features,  "who  fell  with  Wodan; " 
nor  mere  humor,  when  Timm  declared,  "  You  have  the 
very  face  of  the  Grenwitz  barons !  " 

Oswald  darted  up  and  went  to  the  mirror.  A  deadly 
pale  face  with  strange,  wild  eyes  stared  at  him  there. 
"  See  there  !  The  evil  spirit  not  laid  yet !  It  has  not 
had  victims  enough  yet !  Must  there  be  many  more 
sacrifices  .-*  Can  a  vampire  die  of  his  own  venomous 
glance.'  A  bullet.'  Eh!  a  bullet,  nicely  driven  in  at 
the  temples — that  might  make  an  end  to  the  gruesome 
story  !  But  what  will  bring  death  really — a  death  from 
which  the  soul  can  never  awake  aerain.'  " 


502  Through  Night  to  Light. 

Oswald  uttered  a  fierce  cry.  A  hand  seized  his  arm, 
and  over  the  shoulder  of  his  image  in  the  mirror  he  saw 
a  distorted  face  grinning  at  him. 

"  Oho!  "  said  Albert  Timm.  "Are  you  going  on  the 
stage,  dottore,  that  you  stand  before  the  looking-glass 
and  rehearse  monologues  which  might  frighten  an  hon- 
est man  out  of  his  wits  ?  Let  me  look  at  you  in  the 
light .''  Upon  my  word,  you  have  a  strange  look  about 
you.  Little  Emily,  eh  }  You  ought  to  be  glad  she  is 
gone,  before  she  made  you  a  mere  shadow  of  your 
shadow !  You  see,  I  know  everything  ;  and  I  know  a 
good  deal  more  ;  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something 
that  will  make  you  wish  to  live  again,  you  inelancholy 
Prince  of  Denmark  !  But  before  I  tell  you,  send  for  a 
bottle  of  port  wine  or  something  ;  I  am  as  dry  as  a  salted 
cod  this  morning." 

Mr.  Timm,  as  usual,  did  not  wait  for  Oswald's  an- 
swer, but  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  port  wine  and 
caviaze.  "None  in  the  house?  Go  to  the  Dismal 
Hole,  just  around  the  corner,  my  man,  quite  near  by. 
Give  Mr.  Albert  Timm's  respects  to  Mrs.  Rose  Pape, 
and  come  back  in  a  trice,  curly-headed  youth !  " 

Mr.  Timm's  statement,  that  he  had  taken  nothing  that 
morning,  was  evidently  untrue.  He  diffused  a  remark- 
able smell  of  liquor  around  him  ;  his  face  was  very  red, 
and  his  eyes  less  bright  than  usual.  Possibly  he  might 
have  sat  up  all  night ;  his  whole  appearance  made  it 
probable.  His  linen  was  less  tidy  than  ordinarily,  and 
the  brown  overcoat  had  evidently  made  the  acquaintance 
of  numerous  whitewashed  walls  and  stained  tables.  jNIr. 
Timm's  circumstances  had  not  improved  since  Oswald 
had  seen  him  last. 

He  did  not  deny  it ;  on  tlie  contrary  he  raised,  unasked, 
the  veil  from  the  unattractive  picture  of  the  last  months. 

"  Ill-luck  has  pursued  me  step  by  step,"  he  said,  throw- 
ing himself  on  the  sofa  and  stretching  his  legs.  "At  the 
very  time  when  I  made  the  discovery  which  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  as  soon  as  the  wine  comes,  you  dis- 
appeared from  Grunwald,  leaving  not  a  trace.  The 
next  day  the  police  caught  us  at  faro,  and — I  was  banker 
— confiscated  all  I  had — several  hundred  dollars — which 


Through  Night  to  Light.  503 

I  needed  sorely,  since  on  the  following  day  a  bill  of 
mine  became  due.  I  could  not  pay  it,  of  course.  The 
horrid  manikan,  to  whom  I  owed  the  money,  had  me 
put  in  prison,  and  there  I  have  been  till  about  a  week 
ago.  How  I  got  out.-*  My  landlord,  the  old  scamp,  at 
last  bethought  himself  of  going  to  Moses  and  threaten- 
ing him  with  certain  stories — well,  never  mind  that ! 
Here  I  am,  a  free  man  once  more,  and  here  comes  the 
wine  and  the  oysters.  Come,  Oswald,  fill  your  glass  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  brave !  Man  !  I  tell  you  I  am  beside 
myself  at  having  found  you  out  so  soon.  I  was  prepared 
for  a  long  hunt.  And  now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a 
story  that  will  make  you  jump  out  of  your  skin.  Yes, 
out  of  you  skin  !  For  you  will  have  to  lay  aside  the 
whole  miserable  creature  you  are  now  and  put  on  an 
entirely  new  man,  whom  I  have  made  ready  for  you, 
without  any  merit  or  claim  of  your  own,  but  from  pure 
friendship  on  my  part.  And  now  another  glass  and  I'll 
begin!"  Mr.  Timm  pushed  the  plate  with  the  oyster- 
shells,  which  he  had  quickly  piled  up,  from  him,  and 
swallowed  a  full  glass ;  filled  it  again,  drew  a  bundle  of 
papers  from  his  pocket,  laid  them  on  the  table  before 
him,  leaned  his  head  on  both  arms,  and  with  a  loud  hearty 
laugh  at  Oswald,  he  said: 

"  What  will  you  give  me,  mon  che?;  if  I  change  you 
from  a  poor  fellow  into  the  son  and  heir  of  a  great 
baron,  with  a  rental  of  ten  or  twelve  thousand  a  year  ? 
But  I  see  you  are  already  nearly  overcome.  I  do  not 
mean  to  harass  you  any  longer.     Listen  !" 

There  are  moments  in  our  soul's  life  when  the  over- 
wrought brain  looks  upon  the  most  extraordinary,  the 
most  fantastic  events,  as  ordinary  and  quite  natural  oc- 
currences. Thus  it  was  now  with  Oswald.  That  Timm 
brought  him  the  confirmation  of  his  suspicions,  that  he 
proved  to  him  in  black  and  white  that  he  had  not 
dreamt,  that  he  transformed  a  wild  fancy  into  a  legal, 
well-authenticated  document — all  this  appeared  quite 
natural  to  Oswald.  There  were  Marie  Montbert's  fiimily 
papers.  Her  real  name  was  that  of  her  mother,  Marie 
Herzog,  who  had  found  her  way  to  Paris,  there  to  meet 
Colonel  Montbert.     And  Oswald  knew  that  his  mother's 


504  ■  Through  Night  to  Light. 

family  name  was  Herzog.  There  was  a  copy  of  the 
church-register,  obtained  by  Timm's  indefatigable  ac- 
tivity and  mysterious  connections,  which  proved  the 
marriage  performed  at  St.  Mary's  between  M.  d'Estein 
alias  Stein,  and  IMarie  Elizabeth  Herzog.  And  then  the 
baptismal  certificate:  On  the  22  December,  1S23,  a  son 
was  born  unto  Amadeus  Stein  and  his  wedded  wife,  Marie 
Herzog,  who  in  holy  baptism  received  the  name  of 
Oswald.  There  Avere  the  letters  which  Baron  Harald 
had  written  to  Marie  during  his  residence  in  town  in 
the  spring  of  1823  ;  there  Marie's  letters  to  the  baron  ;  a 
letter  written  by  M.  d'Estein  to  Marie  during  the  sum- 
mer of  .the  same  year,  in  which  he  tells  her  that  he  has 
at  last  discovered  her  hiding-place  at  Grenwitz,  and 
beseeches  her  by  the  salvation  of  her  soul,  to  follow 
him  when  all  shall  be  prepared  for  her  flight,  etc. 

"  You  see,"  said  Timm,  "  it  is  all  right  and  complete, 
and  you  can  trace  every  thread  of  this  curiously  com- 
plicated affair  from  beginning  to  end.  The  identity  of 
the  persons  can  be  established  by  documents  and  by  wit- 
nesses alike,  for  the  evidence  of  Rose  Pape  alone  would 
upset  every  argument  on  the  adversary's  side.  She 
knew  your  mother  and  was  present  at  your  birth  and  at 
your  baptism.  The  woman,  it  is  true,  is  not  willing  just 
now  to  appear  in  court  and  to  testify  to  facts  which 
make  her  appear  in  an  unfavorable  light ;  but  money 
makes  the  devil  dance,  and  Mrs.  Rose  will  speak  out  if 
she  is  well  paid.  That  is  no  trouble,  therefore.  My 
only  fear  is  that  you  .have  not  energy  enough  for  such 
a  thing.  I  must  tell  you  frankly,  I  thought  at  first  it 
might  not  be  wise  to  tell  you  anything  at  all  about  it, 
you  have  such  very  absurd  notions  about  many  things, 
and  so  I  dropped  the  old  baroness  a  hint  or  two,  but  she 
did  not  receive  them  very  graciously,  and " 

"  In  a  word,"  said  Oswald,  and  he  turned  still  paler 
than  he  had  been  before,  "  you  wished  to  sell  your  dis- 
covery to  the  baroness,  and  she  did  not  pay  you  the 
price  you  demanded." 

"  Hear  !  hear  !  "  said  Albert,  with  sincere  admiration. 
"  You  develop  there  a  talent  for  business  which  I  did  not 
expect.     Well,  take  it  for  granted  it  was  as  you  guess; 


Through  Night  to  Light.  505 

that  will  not  prevent  you  from  making  proper  use  of 
your  claims.  But,  dearest  periculum  in  mora  !  if  you 
wish  to  become  not  only  the  nephew  of  the  baroness, 
but  also  her  son-in-law,  you  must  make  haste.  Things 
have  come  about  which  I  foretold  you  last  w^inter. 
Helen  is  engaged  to  Prince  Waldenberg,  and  the  en- 
gagement is  to  be  made  public  in  a  few  days  here  in 
town.  Anna  Maria  arrived  last  night,  and  stays  at 
Prince  Waldenberg's  house  with  the  Princess  Letbus, 
the  mother  of  his  highness..  Now  I  have  already  dug 
a  superb  mine  underground,  in  order  to  create  a  useful 
confusion  in  the  enemy's  camp,  and  we  can  begin  the 
attack.  I  am  as  sure  as  of  my  own  life  that  Helen  has 
no  fancy  for  the  prince,  and  that  she  would  say  No ! 
even  at  the  last  moment,  if  she  knew  that  you  are  her 
cousin,  and  that  she  can  recover  the  fortune  she  loses  by 
the  discovery,  by  marrying  you.  But  she  will  not 
believe  anybody  who  would  tell  her  of  the  whole  affair, 
except  one  man,  and  that  man  is — yourself.  Oswald, 
consider  the  stake !  One  single  bold  step,  and  the 
girl  whom  you  love — don't  deny  it !  — whom  you  love 
madly,  is  yours.  A  fortune  such  as  you  never  dreamt 
of  is  yours.  You  will  have  at  once  all  that  others 
spend  a  lifetime  to  gain;  all  that  they  would  unhesita- 
tingly risk  their  very  life  for  !  Surprise  works  wonders ! 
Drive  to  the  prince's  house  in  William  street ;  ask  to  see 
the  young  baroness ;  tell  her,  if  it  must  be,  in  her  moth- 
er's presence,  not  that  you  want  to  marry  her — for  that 
will  come  as  a  matter  of  course — but  that  you  have 
made  this  discovery  under  such  and  such  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  I  will  eat  my  own  head  if  the  girl 
does  not  fall  upon  your  neck  and  let  the  prince  go 
when  he  chooses." 

Albert  was  prepared  to  see  Oswald  at  first  reject  this 
adventurous  plan  altogether;  for,  suitable  as  it  was  for 
a  man  of  Timm's  character,  and  capable  as  he  was  of 
carrying  it  out  boldl}',  he  knew  Oswald's  hesitating 
disposition.  His  most  sanguine  hope  was  to  find  it  ac- 
cepted after  a  long  discussion.  Great  therefore  Avas  his 
joyful  surprise  when  Oswald,  who  had  not  said  a  word 
during  the  whole  long  explanation,  now  rose  and  said : 

22 


$o6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  You  are  right.  There  is  but  one  way.  I  must  go 
myself,  and  at  once  !  " 

"Brother!"  cried  Timm,  jumping  up  and  enthusias- 
tically embracing  Oswald ;  "  that  is  the  most  sensible 
word  you  have  ever  spoken  in  your  life." 

Oswald  shook  himself  free,  with  a  shudder  which 
Timm  did  not  notice  in  his  great  excitement. 

"  Leave  me  alone  now  !  "  he  said.  "You  see  how 'very 
much  I  am  surprised  and  shocked  by  your  revelation. 
I  must  collect  myself  for  the  interview." 

"For  Heaven's  sake;  only  no  new  scruples!  "  cried 
Timni.  "  Fresh  fish  is  good  fish  !  I  am  afraid,  if  I  leave 
you,  you  wull  discover  a  thousand  Buts !  " 

"  I  promise  you  upon  my  word  I  wull  goto  her  Avithin 
an  hour.  I  suppose  you  can  leave  me  the  papers  1 
They  might  be  necessary  if  the  baroness  makes  opposi- 
tion." 

Timm  cast  a  malignant,  suspicious  glance  at  Oswald. 
He  did  not  like  to  give  up  the  papers.  If  OswalcJ 
should  play  false;  if — but  there  was  not  time  to  consider 
long ;  and  there  was  something  in  Oswald's  manner 
which  made  him  shrink  from  making  objections,  a  de- 
cisive firmness  in  the  firmly-closed  pale  lips,  a  dismal 
fire  in  his  large  eyes.  Timm  had  never  seen  him  thus. 
It  was  no  longer  the  old,  fickle  Oswald  Stein ;  it  was 
Baron  Harald's  son  who  was  standing  before  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  do  as  you  please.  I  see  you  are 
determined  to  go  the  whole  length  !  But,  Oswald,  if 
the  enterprise  succeeds,  and  I  cannot  doubt  now  but  it 
must  succeed,  do  not  forget  the  man  who  has  furnished 
you  the  means." 

"You  may  be  sure,"  said  Oswald,  with  a  strange  smile, 
"  that,  as  far  as  material  advantages  are  concerned,  you 
shall  not  fare  worse  in  the  matter  than  myself" 
''  This  promise  moved  the  generous  Timm  so  deeply 
that  he  was  much  inclined  to  embrace  Oswald  once 
more.  But  the  latter  made  a  gesture  which  looked  not 
unlike  disgust,  but  wliicJi  failed  to  have  any  effect  upon 
Timm.  He  only  laughed,  and  said:  "Well,  I  see  )'ou 
are  learning  your  part.  I  will  not  detain  you  any 
longer.      Good-by,  Oswald  !      Play  your  part  well.     It 


Through  Night  to  Light.  507 

is  three  o'clock  now.  At  four  I  will  come  again  and  in- 
quire how  you  have  succeeded.     Adieu  till  then." 

Oswald  paced  the  room  slowly  after  Timm  had  left 
him.  Then  he  went  up  to  the  engraving,  and  looked  at 
it  long  and  anxiously.  "  It  is  too  late  !  "  he  murmured. 
"  I  cannot  save  her ;  I  cannot  set  her  free  from  the  rock 
to  which  fate  has  chained  her.  But  I  will  see  her  once 
more,  and  clear  my  memory  of  the  disgrace  with  which 
this  blackguard,  no  doubt,  has  loaded  me.  She  shall 
not  believe  that  I  could  use  such  unfair  means.  Who 
knows  how  far  this  man  has  used  my  name  in  order  to 
attain  his  end." 

He  stepped  to  the  table  and  arranged  and  folded  up 
the  papers.  Then  he  began  to  dress  himself  for  the 
proposed  interview.  It  took  him  some  time.  He  felt 
as  if  he  were  benumbed  in  all  his  limbs,  and  had  to  sit 
down  more  than  once  to  let  an  attack  of  vertigo  pass 
off.  At  last  he  was  ready.  He  put  the  papers  in  his 
pocket  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

AT  the  same  time  a  carriage  drove  rapidly  through 
the  deserted  street  in  which  Doctor  Braun  lived, 
and  many  faces  appeared  at  the  windows  to  see 
what  it  was.  It  was  an  elegant  coach,  with  two  high- 
bred horses,  and  a  large  coat-of-arms  on  the  doors.  On 
the  box,  by  the  side  of  the  coachman,  a  servant  in  gor- 
geous livery  was  seated.  The  coach  stopped  before 
Doctor  Braun's  house,  the  servant  jumped  down  to  open 
the  door,  and  a  young  lady  stepped  out.  She  Avalked 
rapidly  through  the  little  garden  up  to  the  door. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Braun  at  home }  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  maid,  casting  a  shy 
glance  at  the  velvet  cloak  and  the  charming  white  bon- 
net of  the  lady.     "  I  will  see." 

"  You  need  not  go,"  said  Sophie,  who  suddenly  ap- 


5o8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

peared,  adorned  with  a  long  kitchen  apron  ;  "  here  I 
am." 

With  these  words  she  hastened  with  open  arms  towards 
the  lady,  who,  for  her  part,  drew  back  the  white  veil  and 
flew  into  her  arms. 

"  Dearest  Helen  !  " 

"  Dearest  Sophie  !  " 

Sophie  drew  her  friend  into  the  room,  helped  her  to 
unbutton  her  cloak  with  trembling  hands,  took  off  her 
bonnet,  and  seizing  her  with  both  hands,  she  said : 

"  Well,  now  let  me  look  at  you  in  broad  day-light,  you 
darling ;  beautiful  as  usual,  wondrously  beautiful !  But 
you  look  pale  and  haggard,  it  seems  to  me.  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you  1  You  see  I  have  been  at  work  in  the 
kitchen." 

Helen  smiled.  It  was  a  melancholy  smile,  which 
made  her  dark  eyes  look  still  darker. 

"  I  thank  you,  Sophie  !  I  only  wished  to  refresh  my- 
self by  seeing  you.  Ah !  you  do  not  know  how  I  have 
longed  for  you  !  " 

Sophie  was  deeply  touched  by  thisixnusual  expression 
of  Helen's  feelings.  But  she  was  even  more  deeply 
touched  by  the  sad  tone  of  voice  in  wliich  Helen  said 
she  had  longed  to  see  her.  Such  a  confession,  wliich 
the  boarder  at  Miss  Bear's  institute  would  have  been 
too  proud  ever  to  have  made,  was  still  stranger  in  the 
betrothed  of  Prince  Waldenberg. 

All  this  passed  through  Sophie's  mind  while  she  held 
Helen's  hands  in  her  own  and  looked  deeper  and  deeper 
into  her  dark  eyes. 

"  Poor  Helen  !  "  The  words  escaped  her  ;  she  hardly 
knew  what  she  was  saying. 

But  the  low,  sympathetic  words  awakened  in  Helen's 
heart  all  the  painful  feelings  which  had  kept  her  from 
sleeping  during  the  night,  so  that  she  scarcely  had 
more  than  an  hour's  rest  near  morning.  Pity  for  her- 
self, such  as  she  had  never  known  before,  overcame  her, 
tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  she  threw  herself  into  Sophie's 
arms,  hiding  her  beautiful  pale  face  on  her  friend's 
bosom. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  dearest  Helen !  what  is  the  mat- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  509 

ter?"  said  Sophie,  now  seriously  concerned.  "  I  have 
never  seen  you  so ;  I  never  thought  I  should  see  you  so ; 
and  that  now,  when  I  thought  your  whole  life  was  full 
of  joy  and  glory !  " 

"  Did  you  really  think  so  ?  "  asked  Helen,  raising  her- 
self and  looking  at  Sophie  fixedly  with  her  large  sor- 
rowful eyes. 

Sophie  cast  down  her  own  before  this  look.  She  did 
not  wish  to  say  No ;  and  she  was  too  honest  to  say  Yes. 
But  she  never  hesitated  long.  Now  or  never  was  the 
moment  to  tell  Helen  all  she  had  had  on  her  heart  for 
so  long  a  time. 

"  Helen  !  "  she  said,  looking  vip  frankly  and  calmly 
with  her  deep  blue  eyes  ;  "  I  cannot  feign  and  will  not 
feign  for  any  one,  and  least  of  all  for  you  whom  I  love 
dearly.  Come,  sweetheart,  sit  down  by  me  on  the  sofa 
here,  and  let  us  talk  like  two  sisters  ;  and  let  us  be  sisters, 
if  never  again,  at  least  for  this  hour.  If  you  did  not 
wish  me  to  speak  candidly  to  you,  I  think  you  would 
have  hardly  come  to  me,  vvdien  you  have  so  many  bright- 
er and  greater  friends.     Am  I  right.-'  " 

"  Go  on  ! "  said  Helen,  as  if  it  were  comfort  and  con- 
solation merely  to  hear  the  voice  of  her  friend. 

"  You  ask  me,"  continued  Sophie,  gathering  courage 
as  she  spoke,  "  whether  I  really  thought  you  were  happy. 
I  do  not.  You  do  not  look  like  a  happy  woman.  Your 
beautiful,  pale  fiice  says  No,  even  if  your  tongue  should 
say  Yes.  I  have  often  read  in  your  face — I  have  read 
there  long,  long  stories  of  which  your  lips  did  not  say  a 
word,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  read.     Shall  I  do  it.''  " 

"  Go  on  !  "  said  Helen. 

"  I  read  on  your  brow  that  your  mind  is  not  satisfied 
with  anything  except  what  is  great  and  extraordinary, 
and  even  not  always  with  that ;  and  I  have  read  in  your 
wondrously-beautiful  eyes  that  your  heart  longs  for  love 
as  much  as  human  heart  can  wish  for  it.  Thus,  there 
has  always  been  a  struggle  between  your  mind  and  your 
heart.  You  wish  to  rule  and  to  love  at  the  same  time, 
and  that  cannot  be  done.  Helen  !  love,  true  love — and 
there  is  no  other  love — must  be  humble ;  it  bears  all 
things  and  believes  all  things;   it  wants  only  to  be  one 


5IO  Through  Night  to  Light. 

with  the  person  loved,  one  in  joy  and  one  in  sorrow. 
Look,  sweetheart !  such  love  has  fallen  to  my  share,  and 
therefore  I  know  what  I  say.  Franz  and  I  have  but  one 
will :  he  wants  to  do  what  is  right,  and  so  do  I ;  and  even 
if  our  views  ever  should  be  apart,  our  hearts  are  always 
united.  All  joys  are  doubly  great,  and  all  sorrows  are 
diminished  by  half  I  felt  that  when  m^y  dear  papa 
died.  What  would  have  become  of  me  if  Franz  had  not 
been  there.'*  " 

"I  had  no  one  when  my  father  died !  "  Helen  said, 
sadly. 

"  I  know  it,  darling ;  and  often,  when  I  thought  how 
lonely  you  were,  and  how  you  did  not  have  a  soul  to 
whom  you  could  pour  out  your  grief,  I  have  thrown  my- 
self on  Franz's  bosom,  who  many  a  time  could  not  im- 
agine what  brought  me  to  him  so  suddenlv  and  so  pas- 
sionately. You  stand  alone,  even  now  when  you  are 
on  the  point  of  being  married ;  and  what  is  a  thousand 
times  worse,  you  are  quite  sure  in  your  heart  that  it  will 
always  be  so — that  your  husband  will  never  be  your 
friend,  your  brother,  your  beloved,  before  whom  your 
soul  lies  open  and  clear,  like  a  crystal-clear  mountain 
lake,  into  which  the  sun  looks  brightly  down  to  the  very 
bottom." 

"  Never  !   never !  "  whispered  Helen. 

"I  knew  it,"  said  Sophie,  sadly;  "but,  Helen,  if  it  is 
bad  enough  for  you  to  marry  the  prince  without  loving 
him,  it  is  still  worse  to  become  his  wife  while  you  are 
cherishing  in  your  heart  the  image  of  another  man." 

Deep  blushes  flew  over  Helen's  face  as  Sophie  said 
these  words  in  a  firm  voice,  and  at  the  same  time  looked 
at  her  so  gravely  and  reproachfully  with  her  large  blue 
eyes. 

"  No,  darling;  don't  be  ashamed  of  having  loved  him. 
That  is  not  what  I  blame  you  for.  He  is  a  man  of  un- 
common attraction,  and  gifted  by  nature  with  all  that 
can  charm  woman.  I  do  not  even  blame  you  for  loving 
him  still.  Who  can  cast  aside  true  love  so  promptly .'' 
But,  Helen,  since  it  is  so,  do  not  marry  the  prince ! 
You  ought  not  to  do  it  from  respect  for  yourself,  from 
respect  for  him,  if  he  deserves  respect." 


Through  NizJtt  to  Li^Jit. 


511 


"  It  is  too  late!  "  said  Helen,  hiding  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

"  Never  too  late !  "  exclaimed  Sophie,  passionately, 
and  showing  how  deeply  her  heart  was  moved.  "  It  is 
never  too  late  to  confess  a  mistake  which  must  make 
you  and  him  unspeakably  unhappy.  Do  not  misunder- 
stand me,  Helen  !  I  do  not  speak  in  favor  of  that  man 
who,  if  he  ever  really  deserved  your  love,  has  long  since 
forfeited  all  claim  to  it.  I  never  was  a  friend  of  his  ;  his 
so-called  brilliant  qualities  never  attracted  me,  because 
they  were  not  founded  upon  goodness  of  heart ;  and,  in 
my  eyes,  good  old  Bemperlein  stands  immeasurably 
higher  than  Oswald  Stein.  But,  because  he  is  not 
worthy  of  you,  must  you  therefore  marry  a  man  for 
whom  your  heart  feels  nothing,  however  estimable  he 
may  otherwise  be  .-'  Are  there  no  other  men  in  the  world 
but  Oswald  and  the  prince  }  Oh,  Helen !  I  wish  I  had 
tlie  tongue  of  angels  to  touch  your  heart,  so  that  you 
might  humbly  bow  before  the  truth,  and  esteem  all  the 
splendor  of  the  world  as  nothing  in  comparison  with 
the  happiness  you  would  find  in  being  true  to  yourself!  " 

Helen  shuddered  as  if  really  one  of  the  heavenly  hosts 
were  speaking  to  her. 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  good !  "  she  said.  "  I  wish  I  Avere  like 
you." 

"  You  can  be  so,  if  you  but  choose." 

"But  how  can  I  escape.''  I  have  pledged  my  word  ! 
I  cannot  take  it  back !  " 

"  Speak  openly  to  the  prince  !  "  said  Sophie,  who 
thought  such  a  remedy  quite  simple  and  natural. 

"  Rather  die  !  ''  murmured  Helen. 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  The 
servant  appeared  with  a  note  in  his  hand. 

"  A  special  messenger,  ma'am,  on  horseback,  with  a 
note  from  the  baroness."  • 

Helen  seized  the  note  hastily. 

"  From  mamma  !  " 

She  cast  a  glance  at  it  and  trembled. 

"What  is  it,  Helen  .?  " 

"  Mamma  has  just  heard  from  Grenwitz,  that  brother 
has  been  taken  very  ill.  She  must  go  back  immediately !  " 


512  Through  NigJbt  to  Light. 

"  Poor  girl !  "  said  Sophie.  "  How  pale  and  frightened 
you  look  !     Shall  I  go  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  said  Helen.  "  You  stay  !  I  must  go  alone. 
Good-by,  dearest  Sophie !    Good-by !  " 

Helen  tore  herself  from  Sophie's  arms. 

Sophie  accompanied  her  to  the  carriage.  She  held 
her  friend's  hand  firmly  in  her  own,  and  said  :  "  Let  me 
hear  from  you,  Helen !  And,  Helen,  \vhatever  you  do, 
follow  the  voice  of  your  warm  heart ;  it  is  a  better  coun- 
sellor than  your  cold  intellect !  " 

"  I  wall  do  so,",  said  Helen,  already  in  the  carriage ; 
"you  may  rely  upon  it,  I  will  do  so.     Good-by  !" 

The  servant  closed  the  door;  the  carriage  dashed  off. 
Sophie  followed  it  with  the  eye  till  it  had  turned  the 
nearest  corner,  then  she  went  slowly  back  to  the  house, 
her  lovely  face  bent  thoughtfully  to  the  ground. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

IN  a  room  in  the  second  story  of  the  Hotel  de  Russie, 
Unter  den  Linden,  Berger  was  closeted  that  same 
afternoon  with  Director  Schmenckel.  They  had 
had  a  long  interview,  and  Mr.  Schmenckel  was  just  ris- 
ing to  say  good-by.     Berger  rose  likewise. 

''  You  know  exactly  w'hat  you  have  to  say.?" 

"I  should  think  so,"  replied  Mr.  Schmenckel,  and 
cleared  his  throat. 

"  Had  we  better  go  over  it  once  more .'" 

"  Might  do  no  harm,"  replied  Mr.  Schmenckel. 

"  You  will  say,  then,  that  you  are  sorry  to  have  caused 
the  princess  so  much  trouble.  You,  yourself,  would 
never  have  thought  of  it;  but  that  man — how  did  you  call 
him  ?  " 

"Timm !  " 

'• had  led  you  on  !     Now  you  had  found  out  that 

such  proceedings  were  not  worthy  of  an  lionest  man,  and 
that  you  promised  the  princess,  upon  your  honor,  never 


Through  Night  to  Light.  513 

to  let  another  word  of  that  whole  affair  escape  your 
lips." 

"  My  lips !  "  repeated  Mr.  Schmenckel,  like  a  school- 
boy who  repeats  a  lesson  the  teacher  tells  him  to  say 
after  him. 

"  And  as  for  that  man,  Timm,  you  will  tell  the  prin- 
cess not  to  trouble  herself  about  him ;  but,  if  he  should 
come  and  ask  for  money,  to  have  him  turned  out  of  the 
house  by  the  servants.  As  you  do  not  intend  to  support 
him  in  any  way,  he  cannot  expect  to  make  much  out  of 
the  story.     Do  you  have  it  all  well  in  your  head  now  1  " 

"  I  think  it  will  do,"  said  Mr.  Schmenckel,  meditatively. 

"  And,  above  all,  you  will  accept  no  money  from  the 
princess,  neither  much  nor  little.  Don't  forget  that;  do 
you  hear }  " 

"  All  right !  "  said  the  director,  putting  his  hat  on  his 
head  with  a  great  show  of  resolution.  "  Adieu,  profes- 
sor!" 

"  Adieu  !  "  said  Berger,  shaking  hands.  "  Go  and  be- 
come once  more  the  honest,  upright  man  you  have  been 
heretofore." 

"  And  now,"  said  Berger  to  himself,  when  the  door 
had  closed  after  Schmenckel;  "now  the  moment  has 
come  to  pay  an  old  debt."  He  went  to  a  bureau  and 
took  from  a  drawer  a  small  box  of  ebony  and  a  medal- 
lion. Then  he  left  the  room  and  went  down  the  pas- 
sage till  he  came  to  a  door,  before  which  he  stopped,  lis- 
tening for  a  moment.  The  key  was  in  the  key-hole. 
Berger  noiselessly  drew  it  out  and  knocked. 

"  Eiitrez  !  "  cried  a  sslirill  voice. 

Berger  entered. 

The  man  he  came  to  see  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
door,  before  a  looking-glass,  busy  finishing  his  toilet. 
He  turned  round,  thinking  it  was.  a  waiter.  The  new 
comer  cast  a  rapid  look  around  the  room,  locked  the 
door  quickly  and  noiselessly  fi'om  within,  and  then  went 
to  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Count  Malikowsky,  still 
busy  with  his  cravat. 

"  My  name  is  Berger.  I  have  already  told  you  what  I 
want." 

00* 


514  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  If  you  have  any  demand  upon  me  you  can  speak  to 
my  valet.     I  do  not  trouble  myself  with  such  things." 

"  I  know  very  well,"  said  Berger,  without  changing  a 
feature,  "  that  Count  Malikowsky  likes  best  to  have  de- 
mands which  are  presented  to  him  in  person  attended 
to  by  others,  even  by  assassins,  if  needs  be  ;  but  this 
time. I  trust  he  will  make  an  exception." 

With  these  words  he  approached  the  round  table  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  placed  the  little  box  on  it,  and 
took  from  the  box  the  two  pistols  which  it  contained. 

The  count  had  witnessed  these  proceedings  with  an 
amazement  which  made  him  for  a  time  speechless  and 
motionless.  The  sight  of  the  pistols,  however,  brought 
him  to  his  senses  again.  With  a  rapidity  which  one 
would  not  have  thought  possible  at  his  age  he  hastened 
to  the  door. 

Berger  stepped  in  his  way,  the  pistols  in  his  hand. 

"  One  more  effort  to  escape,"  he  said,  "  one  sound,  and 
yoii  die  like  a  dog!  Stand  over  there,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  table  ;  so  !  " 

"The  man  is  mad!  "  murmured  the  count,  obeying 
Berger's  command  and  trembling  in  all  his  limbs. 

"  Maybe!  "  said  Berger,  with  an  uncomfortable  laugh; 
*'  but  if  I  am  mad  it  is  your  fault,  count.  You  do  not 
know  me .?  " 

"No;  indeed,  I  do  not!  " 

"  Maybe  I  have  changed  slightly  since  I  last  had 
the  equivocal  honor  of  meeting  you.  I  will  assist  your 
memory.     Do  you  know  this  .''  " 

He  opened  the  medallion  and  held  it  towards  the  count 
across  the  table.  The  count  took  his  gold  eye-glass  and 
looked  at  the  miniature.  It  was  a  well-painted  portrait 
of  a  marvellously  beautiful,  brown-eyed  girl,  in  the  cos- 
tume of  the  year  1820. 

"  Leonora !  "  cried  the  count,  starting  back. 

"  Yes  ;  Leonora !  "  repeated  Berger,  closing  the  medal- 
lion again  and  putting  it  away.  "  And  now  I  hope  you 
will  know  who  I  am,  and  what  the  account  is  which  we 
have  to  settle." 

The  count  had  turned  pale  even  under  his  rouge;  his 
false  teeth  rattled ;  he  had  to  sit  down  in  an  arm-chair 


Through  Night  to  Light.  515 

which  stood  near  the  table,  as  he  could  not  stand  any 
longer. 

Berger  seemed  to  enjoy  the  wretched  sight. 

"  How  the  coward  trembles ! "  he  said.  "  How  the  mean 
heart  in  the  hollow  bosom  knocks  against  the  ribs  for 
the  sake  of  a  useless  bit  of  life !  Miserable  coward  ! 
You  can  seduce  girls,  but  you  cannot  face  a  man  !  Here, 
take  this  pistol  and  end  a  life  full  of  disgrace  by  an  hon- 
orable death  !  " 

"I  cannot  do  it,"  whined  the  count;  "have  pity  on 
me  !  You  see,  I  am  an  old  man  ;  my  hands  tremble 
from  gout ;  I  cannot  hold  a  pen,  much  less  a  pistol, 
steady  !  " 

"  Is  that  so  T'  asked  Berger;  "  are  you  really  nothing 
but  a  whitewashed  grave  1  Why,  then,  it  would  be 
harder  punishment  to  let  you  live!" 

Berger  bowed  his  head  and  thought  a  moment. 

*'  Be  it  so!"  he  said.  He  put  the  pistols  back  in  the 
box.     The  count  breathed  freely. 

"  I  have  longed  for  this  hour  these  thirty  years.  I 
thought  revenge  would  be  wondrously  sweet ;  but  the 
cup  in  which  it  is  offered  to  me  is  too  disgusting.  I  do 
not  want  it." 

Berger  had  said  this  as  if  speaking  to  himself.  Now 
he  raised  his  lids,  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  on  the  count,  who 
was  still  trembling  in  the  corner  of  his  chair,  and  said: 

"  I  have  done  v/-ith  you.  I  will  leave  you  your  mis- 
erable life,  but  under  one  condition  :  You  will  leave 
town  in  an  hour,  and  never  appear  again  in  Germany. 
I  do  not  want  a  blackguard  like  you  to  breathe  German 
air." 

"  As  you  wish  it !  as  you  wish  it !  "  said  the  count.  "  I 
shall  be  glad  to  get  out  of  the  wretched  country." 

Berger  put  the  box  in  his  pocket.  Suddenly  wild  tu- 
mult was  heard  in  the  street.  Berger  was  instantly  at 
the  window.  Crowds  of  people — men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren— were  rushing  down  the  broad  streets.  "  We  are 
betrayed!     They  fire  at  us  !     To  arms!     To  arms!" 

"  To  arms  !  To  arms  !"  cried  Berger,  raising  his  arms 
on  high  in  wild  joyousness.  "At  last!  at  last!  Thanks, 
Great  Spirit !" 


5i6  Through  Night  to  Light. 

He  turned  away  from  the  window,  seized  the  count, 
whom  curiosity  had  roused  from  his  terror,  by  the 
breast,  and  shaking  him  with  perfect  fury,  he  cried  : 

"Do  you  hear,  coward?  to  arms!  A  whole  nation 
calls  to  arms !  Women  and  children  !  Now  all  the  old 
debts  shall  be  paid  that  you  and  the  like  of  you  have 
contracted  for  the  last  thirty  years  I" 

He  pushed  the  half-dead  man  contemptuously  from 
him,  opened  the  door,  and  rushed  out. 

He  ran  against  an  officer,  who  was  just  about  to 
enter. 

It  was  Prince  Waldenberg. 

"  Pardon  me,  father,  if  I  cannot  keep  my  promise  to 
accompany  you  to  the  princess,"  said  the  prince,  out  of 
breath ;  "  but  you  hear  the  rebellion  is  out  again.  I 
expect  every  moment  to  hear  the  drums  beat." 

The  count  was  still  quite  beside  himself  from  the  en- 
counter with  Berger.  He  stared  at  the  prince  with  a 
pale,  disturbed  countenance. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  father?  "  asked  the  prince,  who 
now  only  noticed  the  change  in  his  appearance. 

"  Go  to  the  devil  with  your  father,  sir,"  cried  the 
count,  in  whom  the  wild  hatred  he  had  cherished  for  so 
many  years  against  his  wife's  son  at  last  broke  out  into 
full  fury.  "  I  am  not  your  father.  I  do  not  choose  to 
be  your  father.  If  you  wish  to  see  your  father  go  to 
your  mother.     You  will  find  him  there  !  " 

"What  do  you  mean,  father?  "  said  the  prince,  fearing 
the  count  had  become  insane. 

"Father!"  mimicked  the  count,  scornfully.  "De- 
lightful !  Charming !  But  I  am  tired  of  the  farce. 
You  can  all  go  to  the  devil !  " 

He  rang  the  bell. 

"  My  carriage  ;  do  you  hear?  "  he  cried,  as  the  Avaiter 
came.  Then  turning  to  the  prince,  "  Will  you  go  now, 
sir,  or  not  ?  " 

The  prince  looked  at  the  count  like  a  man  who  does 
not  know  whether  he  shall  believe  his  own  ears  and 
eyes  or  not.  Suddenly  he  seemed  to  have  formed  a 
resolution.  He  cast  one  more  look  at  the  count,  who 
was  running  about  like  a  madman,  and  left  the  room. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  517 


CHAPTER     XIV. 

MR.  SCIIMENCKEL  walked  slowly  down  the  Lin- 
den to  William  street.  He  had  crossed  his  arms 
behind  and  pressed  his  hat  low  down  on  his 
brow.  '  People  made  way  for  him,  for  he  stared  fixedly 
at  the  pavement,  and  continually  murmured  unintelligi- 
ble words  through  his  teeth.  But  Mr.  Schmenckel  was 
neitlier  drunk  nor  mad  ;  he  was  only  a  little  excited,  and 
repeated  the  lesson  which  Berger  had  taught  him.  It  was 
a  hard  task ;  but  Mr.  Schmenckel  felt  that  he  was  only 
doing  his  duty  if  he  broke  up  the  plot  into  which  he  had 
been  entrapped  by  the  cunning  of  Mr.  Timm.  How  fortu- 
nate that  he  had  revealed  it  all  to  the  professor  in  his 
great  anxiety!  How  that  man  talked!  Why,  he  had 
frightened  him  out  of  his  wits  !  Schmenckel  had  always 
said  that  the  professor  was  a  man  of  very  special  gifts. 
And  that  the  Czika  turned  out  to  be  a  baron's  daughter, 
that  was  no  wonder  to  Director  Schmenckel,  of  Vienna. 
She  had  such  wonderful  eyes,  that  girl,  and  he  had  always 
treated  her  well ;  it  was  not  so  strange,  therefore,  that 
the  baron  should  have  offered  old  Caspar  Schmenckel 
a  place  as  steward  on  one  of  his  estates.  No  ;  Caspar 
Schmenckel,  from  Vienna,  need  not  try  to  obtain  money 
by  foul  means.  Caspar  Schmenckel  could  hold  his  head 
high  again  and 

"  Why  on  earth,  old  man,  are  you  coming  only  now  .''  " 
said  suddenly  a  very  sharp  voice  near  him.  "  You  ought 
to  have  done  with  your  visit  by  this  time !  " 

It  was  Mr.  Timm  who  had  uttered  these  angry  words. 
He  had  been  patrolling  up  and  down  William  street,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  Waldenberg  mansion,  in  order 
to  hear  the  result  of  Oswald's  interview  with  the  Baro- 
ness Grenwitz.  He  thought  Director  Schmenckel  was 
by  this  time  on  his  way  to  the  Dismal  Hole,  where  they 
had  appointed  to  meet  in  case  they  should  miss  each 
other  in  the  street.  Timm  had  had  his  reasons  for  send- 
ing Schmenckel  an  hour  sooner  than  Oswald  to  the 
house.     If  Oswald's  interview  with  the  baroness  was  to 


Ci8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

be  successful,  the  baroness  must  first  have  read  a  certain 
letter;  and  in  order  to  make  the  letter  effective,  Schmenc- 
kel  must  first  have  had  a  conference  with  the  princess. 
In  Mr.  Timm's  exquisite  plans  each  measure  fitted  into 
the  other  as  in  the  works  of  a  watch.  Mr.  Timm  had, 
therefore,  good  reasons  for  being  very  indignant  at  Mr. 
Schmenckel's  dereliction. 

"  It  is  enough  to  drive  one  mad,"  he  continued,  in  his 
irritation.  "  I  cannot  leave  you  alone  for  a  moment 
but  you  commit  a  stupid  blunder." 

"  Oh !  not  so  rude,  my  friend  !  "  replied  Mr.  Schmenc- 
kel,  feeling  in  his  virtuous  purposes  quite  able  to  cope 
with  the  serpent-wisdom  of  his  accomplice,  "  or  I'll  be- 
come personal  too  !  " 

Mr.  Timm  saw  that  he  had  gone  too  far. 

"  Well,  well !  "  he  said,  gently ;  "  between  friends  no 
offence  ought  to  be  taken.  Only  make  haste  now  to  go 
in.  All  may  come  out  right  yet.  You  have  seen  the 
count  this  morning  .''  " 

"  No  !  "  growled  Mr.  Schmenckel. 

"But  why  on  earth  haven't  you  seen  him?"  ex- 
claimed Timm,  whose  indignation  was  roused  once  more. 

"  Because  I  did  not  choose  !  "  said  Schmenckel,  de- 
fiantly. "  Because  I  do  not  Avant  to  have  anything  more 
to  do  with  you  anyway  !  " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Timm  ;  "  you  would  like  to  raise  the 
treasure  by  yourself.''  I  have  burnt  my  fingers  to  draw 
the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  for  you,  eh  }  No,  my  dear 
sir,  we  are  not  quite  such  fools.  He  who  wants  to  be 
paid  must  work." 

"  I  do  not  Avant  a  farthing  of  that  wretched  money!  " 
cried  Schmenckel.  "  I  am  going  to  tell  the  princess 
that  I  am  an  honest  fellow,  and  that  she  need  not  trouble 
herself  any  further." 

*'  Are  you  piping  in  that  way  "i  "  asked  Timm.  "  You 
mean  to  betray  me  a  little,  do  you  ?  Have  a  care,  man ; 
you  might  have  to  pay  dear  for  the  fun !  " 

"  I  shaJl  do  what  I  like,"  said  Schmenckel,  assuming 
a  very  determined  air,  and  walking  off  with  long  strides. 

"  You  shall  not  enter  that  house ! "  cried  Timm,  and 
seized  Schmenckel  by  the  arm. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  519 

Schmenckel's  reply  to  this  challenge  was  a  blow, 
which  hurled  Mr.  Timm  very  unpleasantly  across  the 
sidewalk  against  the  wall.  The  next  moment  the  great 
portal  had  closed  behind  Mr.  Schmenckel. 

The  little  altercation  Avith  Mr.  Timm  had  put  him  in 
a  kind  of  heroic  ecstasy  well  suited  for  the  interview 
he  was  about  to  have.  Thus  it  happened  that  he  was 
not  abashed  by  the  gorgeous  livery  of  the  servants,  nor 
by  the  splendor  of  the  rooms  through  which  he  was  led. 
But  his  courage  failed  him  and  his  heart  sank  when  the 
servant  stopped  at  a  door  and  whispered  :  "  Her  grace 
is  in  there ;  go  in  ^A-ithout  knocking  ;  she  expects  you." 
Mr.  Schmenckel  passed  his  hand  through  his  thick  hair, 
cleared  his  voice,  held  his  hat  firmly  under  his  left  arm, 
and  entered  cautiously. 

A  rosy  twilight  received  him,  and  in  the  rosy  twilight 
he  noticed  two  women,  one  of  whom  was  seated  in  an 
arm-chair  near  the  bright  fire  that  was  burning  there  in 
spite  of  the  warm  weather,  while  the  other  stood  a  little 
sideways  behind  the  chair.  Both  of  them  examined 
him  as  he  approached  with  eager  curiosity.  His  recep- 
tion caused  him  to  shorten  his  steps  more  and  more 
till  he  suddenly  came  to  a  stop  half  way  between  the 
door  and  the  fire-place. 

"  Come  nearer,  my  friend,"  said  the  lady  who  was 
standing  behind  the  chair. 

Mr.  Schmenckel  advanced  a  few  inches  and  came 
again  to  a  stop,  quite  determined  this  time  not  to  ap- 
proach nearer  to  those  formidable  eyes. 

"  You  are  the  man  who  wrote  to  Count  Malikowsky 
day  before  yesterday .? "  asked  the  lady  behind  the 
chair. 

"Yes,  your  grace."  Mr.  Schmenckel  felt  as  if  these 
words,  which  he  no  doubt  had  uttered  himself,  had  been 
spoken  by  some  one  else  at  the  other  end  of  the  large 
apartment.  This  was  by  no  means  calculated  to  bring 
back  the  heroic  frame  of  mind  which  the  rosy  twilight 
and  the  bright  eyes  had  so  seriously  damaged.  He 
blushed  all  over,  and  cleared  his  voice  in  order  to  con- 
vince himself  that  it  was  really  he  himself  who  was 
speaking  to  the  ladies. 


520  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Your  name  is  Schmenckel  ?  "  asked  the  lady  behind 
the  chair. 

"  Yes,  your  grace.  " 

"  And  you  were  in  St.  Petersburg  twenty-four  years 
ago .?  " 

"  Yes,  your  grace." 

"  And  you  visited  at  Letbus  House  "i  " 

"  Yes,  your  grace." 

"  Do  you  recognize  nie  ?  " 

Mr.  Schmenckel  fixed  his  eyes,  which  had  been  rest- 
ing upon  everything  in  the  room  except  the  two  ladies, 
on  the  speaker,  and  said,  after  a  short  reflection, 

"  I  should  think  so ;  although  I  should  not  like  to 
swear  to  it.  If  it  was  not  such  a  very  long  time  since, 
I  should  say  you  were  the  Nadeska,  the  chambermaid 
of  the  princess,  who  was  all  the  time  bringing  me  notes 
and  rose  bouquets  into  the  Black  Bear." 

Nadeska  bent  over  her  mistress  and  whispered  a  few 
words  into  her  ear,  to  which  the  latter  replied  in  the 
same  tone.     Then  Nadeska  left  the  room. 

"  Wont  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Schmenckel  ?  "  said  the 
princess,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone. 

Mr.  Schmenckel  seated  himself  on  the  outer  edge  of 
an  arm-chair. 

"  Do  you  recognize  me  also  ?  "  asked  the  lady. 

Mr.  Schmenckel  bowed,  placing  his  hand  on  his  heart. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  me  directly  7  "  the  prin- 
cess continued  in  a  tone  of  gentle  reproach.  "  Why  did 
you  take  the  count  into  your  confidence  ?  Have  I  ever 
been  ungenerous  towards  you.  Was  it  my  fault  if  our 
last  meeting  ended  as  it  did  ?  " 

Mr.  Schmenckel  was  about  to  reply,  but  the  princess 
continued. 

"  If  I  had  known  that  you  were  still  living,  and  where 
you  were  living,  I  would  have  provided  for  you  liber- 
ally ;  and  I  am  still  willing  to  do  so.  But  one  condition 
I  must  make:  you  must  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
count ;  and,  above  all  things,  you  must  never  dare  come 
near  the  prince.  If  you  will  comply  with  these  condi- 
tions you  may  ask  what  you  choose,  and  if  Alexandrina 
Letbus  is  able  to  do  it  it  shall  be  done !  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  •  521 

The  princess  extended  imploringly  her  thin,  trans- 
parent hand  ;  her  black  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  the  rosy 
twilight  gave  a  spiritual  beauty  to  her  pale  but  still 
beautiful  features.  Mr.  Schmenckel  had  a  susceptible 
heart  in  his  bosom,  and  the  humility  of  the  great  lady 
moved  him  deeply. 

"  Let  me  say  a  word  now,  too,  your  grace,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  not  the  scoundrel  you  make  me  out.  I  should 
never  have  dreamt,  your  grace,  of  writing  a  letter  to 
the  count,  if  I  had  not  been  persuaded  to  do  so  by  an 
awfully  bad  man.  Timm  is  his  name.  I  never  knew  at 
all  that  Caspar  Schmenckel,  of  Vienna,  had  such  a  great 
lord  for  his  son.  But  that  man  Timm  said  to  me  :  No 
harm  in  beating  about  the  bush ;  no  harm  in  that ! 
Then  he  wrote  the  letter,  and  carried  it  himself  to  the 
count.  The  count  came  the  same  evening  to  the  Dis- 
mal Hole  to  see  me,  and  told  me  he  was  very  glad  if  I 
could  make  life  a  little  hard  to  you,  Mrs.  Princess.  But 
he  said  I  must  not  say  a  word  to  the  prince,  or  there 
would  be  an  end  to  the  fun.  And  then,  says  he,  it  is  too 
much  what  you  ask  ;  a  fourth  of  it  is  enough.  And  he 
told  me  to  talk  it  over  with  your  grace  and  then  he 
would  pay  me  the  money  this  forenoon  at  his  hotel. 
Now,  your  grace,  you  may  believe  it  or  not,  as  you 
choose,  but  Caspar  Schmenckel,  from  Vienna,  is  an  hon- 
est fellow,  and  don't  like  to  do  any  harm  to  anybody, 
least  of  all  to  a  beautiful  lady  who  has  once  upon  a 
time  been  very  kind  to  poor  Caspar.  And  when  your 
grace  sent  for  me,  and  let  me  know  that  you  wanted  to 
see  me  yourself,  I  said :  Caspar,  says  I,  go  to  the  prin- 
cess and  tell  her  so  and  so,  and  she  must  not  trouble 
herself  about  it  any  more ;  Caspar  Schmenckel  will 
never  come  near  her  in  all  his  life.  And  as  for  the  money, 
I  tell  your  grace,  not  a  penny  do  I  want  to  touch  of  it, 
not  if  it  were  to  turn  into  pure  gold  on  the  spot.  And 
so,  your  grace — princess,  good-by  to  you !  And  if  we 
don't  see  each  other  again  you  must  remain  well,  and 
don't  you  trouble  yourself  any  more  about  Caspar 
Schmenckel ;  he'll  never  do  you  any  harm.  I  kiss  your 
hand,  your  grace  !  " 

With  these  words  he  rose  and  made  his  best  bow. 


522  Through  Night  to  Light. 

The  princess  was  very  much  touched. 

"  Good  fellow,"  she  said,  with  trembling  voice. 

Her  eyes  dwelt  with  pleasure  upon  the  herculean 
proportions  of  the  man  who  w^as  the  father  of  her  son. 
The  extraordinary  resemblance  between  them,  in  figure 
as  well  as  in  face,  filled  her  with  mournful  satisfaction. 
She  thought  of  the  days  when  this  man,  a  lion  in 
strength  and  agility,  had  conquered  not  her  heart  but 
her  imagination.  But  at  the  same  moment  a  sudden 
fear  overcame  her  lest  her  son  should  find  his  father 
here — lest  her  son  with  his  pride  and  his  passionate 
temper  should  ever  discover  that  this  juggler,  this  rope- 
dancer,  was  the  father  of  Prince  Waldenberg. 

"  You  must  go  !  "  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  Here," — she 
took  a  superb  ring  from  her  finger,  in  which  the  dia- 
monds shone  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  as  they 
caught  the  light  of  the  fire — "  here ;  no  words,  take  it ! 
I  have  Avorn  it  long,  long  ago,  even  then  when  Nadeska 
first  brought  you  to  me;  take  it  as  a  keepsake  from 
Alexandrina  Letbus  !     But  now  go,  go  !  " 

She  touched  the  silver  bell.     Nadeskjl  entered. 

"  Show  him  out !     Mind  that  no  one  see  you  !  " 

Nadeska  took  Mr.  Schmenckel,  Avho  would  have 
liked  to  have  said  something,  but  was  too  confused  and 
embarrassed  to  find  words,  and  led  him  through  a  secret 
door  which  led  near  the  fire-place  into  a  narrow  passage, 
and  then  through  a  private  staircase  into  the  court- 
yard. 

The  princess  sank  exhausted  back  into  the  cushions 
of  her  easy-chair,  and  hid  her  eyes  behind  her  hand. 
She  did  not  notice  that  a  heavy  curtain  on  the  right 
hand  from  the  fire-place,  which  had  been  moving  several 
times  during  her  conversation  with  Mr.  Schmenckel, 
now  opened  and  admitted  the  prince.  She  only  heard 
him  when  he  was  close  by  her.  She  opened  her  eyes, 
and  at  the  same  moment-  she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek 
— his  unexpected  appearance  and  a  single  glance  at  his 
pale,  disturbed  face  told  her  that  he  had  heard  all. 

"  Mercy,  Raimund  !  Mercy !  "  she  cried,  raising  her 
folded  hands  in  agony  towards  him. 

Raimund's   broad  chest  was  heaving  as   if  it  were 


Through  Night  to  Light.  523 

struggUnc^  with  an  overwhelming  burden,  and  his  voice 
sounded  like  a  hoarse  death-rattle,  as  he  now  said,  point- 
ing with  the  finger  at  the  door  through  which  Schmenc- 
kel  had  left, 

"  Was  that  man  who  has  just  left  you  my  father  ?  " 

"  Mercy,  Raimund  !  Mercy  !  Are  you  going  to  kill 
your  mother?  " 

"  Better  you  had  never  borne  me  than  this !  " 

The  powerful  man  trembled  as  if  violent  fever  Avere 
shaking  him ;  a  groan  broke  from  his  breast  which  re- 
sounded fearfully  through  the  gorgeous  apartment. 

"  By  all  the  saints,  Raimund,  hear  me,  1  beseech  you ! 
I  will  tell  you  all!" 

"  I  need  not  hear  any  more.  I  know  too  much  al- 
ready. The  count  called  me  a  bastard  \  I  thought  he 
Avas  mad  !    He  called  me  by  my  right  name." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  side — he  had  laid  aside  his 
sword  in  the  ante-room.  His  eyes  looked  searchingly 
around  as  if  looking  for  a  weapon.  His  mother  under- 
stood him. 

"  Raimund,  Raimund,  what  are  you  going  to  do .''" 

"  Make  an  end  of  it  as  soon  as  possible  !" 

"No  man  will  ever  know " 

"  J^F/// know .''  Who  does  not  know  it. ^  Nadeska!  the 
count!  this  man!  Are  my  rank,  my  honor,  my  fortune 
to  depend  on  the  whim  of  a  chambermaid,  the  discretion 
of  a  heartless  roue,  and  the  silence  of  a  rope-dancer.-* 
Am  I  to  wait  till  the  people  in  the  street " 

"  I  will  kill  every  man  who  knows  it !  They  shall  die 
— they  shall  all  die,  if  you  but  remain  my  own." 

"And  if  they  were  to  die,  and  if  no  one  knew  but  you 
and  I — yes,  mother,  if  you  were  dead  and  the  secret 
were  buried  in  my  bosom,  I  should  not  think  it  safe 
even  there  ;  I  should  hide  myself  and  my  disgrace  in  the 
lowest  depths  of  the  earth." 

The  princess  covered  her  pale  face  with  her  thin  hands. 
But  this  was  not  the  moment  to  abandon  herself  to  idle 
grief.  She  knew  her  son's  character  too  well  not  to  be 
aware  that  it  was  a  question  of  life  and  death. 

"  Raimund,"  she  said,  starting  up  again,  "you  do  not 
kill  yourself  only ;  you  kill  me  too!     You  arc  myall, 


//  ^ 


524  Through  Night  to  Light. 

my  sun,  and  my  light !  I  never  had  another  child  but 
you.  You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  child  and 
to  love  it,  especially  when  one  is  as  unhappy  as  I  have 
been!  I  never  loved  the  count.  I  could  not  have  loved 
a  roue  who  has  wasted  his  fortune  and  his  health  in 
abominable  profligacy.  I  became  his  wife  because — be- 
cause the  czar  would  have  it  so.  And  I  was  so  young  at 
that  time,  and  so  frivolous  and  thoughtless,  grown  up  in 
all  the  splendor  and  luxury  of  the  most  splendid  and 
most  luxurious  court  on  earth  !  I  was  not  a  faithful  wife 
— nor  was  the  count  a  faithful  husband.  It  mattered 
little  to  him  ;  but  he  wished  to  get  a  hold  on  me  in  order 
to  force  me  to  provide  for  his  mad  expenditures.  He 
had  long  watched  me — till  at  last,  I  do  not  know  yet  by 
what  unlucky  accident  or  by  whose  treachery,  he  dis- 
covered my  secret.  From  that  moment  my  life  has 
been  a  perpetual  torture ;  I  have  grown  old  before  my 
time.  I  never  had  anything  but  you  and  your  love  to 
warm  my  heart  in  this  icy-cold  Avorld.  If  you  rob  me 
of  that  also,  I  must  succumb.  Raimund,  is  this  your 
gratitude  for  all  my  love.?  " 

The  son  had  listened  to  his  mother's  cunning  words, 
which  interwove  truth  and  fiction  so  skilfully,  with  an 
air  as  black  as  a  wall  of  thunder-laden  clouds. 

"  Show  me  the  possibility  to  live,"  he  replied,  "  and  I 
will  live.  As  it  is,  I  cannot  live.  I  cannot  endure  the 
consciousness  that  my  blood  is  no  better  than  that 
which  flows  in  the  veins  of  my  groom." 

"Am  I  not  your  mother.?  " 

*'  Is  that  low  person  not  my  father }  " 

"  Yes,  Raimund,  he  is,  and  to  him  you  owe  your  proud 
strength ;  to  him  you  owe  it,  if  all  men  look  weaklings 
by  your  side.  Would  you  rather  be  the  count's  son  and 
inherit  his  wretched  feebleness,  his  poisoned  blood.? 
And  do  you  fancy  that  in  our  veins  no  other  blood  flows 
but  noble  blood  ? — that  your  case  is  the  only  one  in 
which  a  degenerate  race  has  been  renewed  by  an  admix- 
ture of  sound  but  humble  blood  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  a 
few  anecdotes  of  our  own  circles.?  And  do  you  think  it 
is  different  in  higher  and  the  very  highest  families  .?  " 

The   princess  rose  lightly  from  her  chair  and  wliis- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  525 

pered  something  in  her  son's  ear.  But  he  shook  grinnly 
his  head. 

"  Is  it  thus  with  us.?  "  he  said.  "  Then  we  had  better 
break  our  swords  to  pieces,  and  drag  our  coats-of-arms 
through  tlie  mire.  I  have  kept  my  honor  unsullied; 
I  have  no  sin  on  mv  conscience,  but  I  must  atone  for 
the  sins  of  others,  before  it  rises  higher  and  higher,  and 
I  get  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  mire.  Do  you  know 
that  the  man  with  whom  I  had  some  days  ago  a  per- 
sonal encounter  Unter  den  Linden,  was  this  very  man!  " 
The  prince  pointed  at  the  door  through  which  Mr. 
Schmenckel  had  made  his  way  out.  "  Do  you  know  that 
I  escaped  but  by  a  hair's  breadth  staining  my  sword 
with  the  blood  of  him  who  is  my  father  1  No  !  no ! 
The  measure  is  full  to  overflowing  !  " 

"  And  Helen  .?  " 

The  prince  shuddered. 

The  princess  saw  how  deep  that  arrow  had  entered. 
A  gleam  of  hope  appeared  to  her ;  she  thought  she 
might  after  all  be  victorious  in  this  conflict. 

"Are  you  going  to  destroy  your  greatest  happiness.' 
will  you  make  this  angel  also  wretched .''  will  you  hu- 
miliate yourself  before  her,  the  proud  beauty .'  Impos- 
sible !  You  cannot  mean  it.  You  are  bound  to  life 
with  chains  of  steel  and  with  chains  of  roses.  You  can 
break  the  former,  you  dare  not  break  these." 

"  It  is  in  vain,"  said  the  prince ;  "  all  your  words  can- 
not remove  this  terrible  burden  !  "  He  placed  his  haijd 
on  his  breast.     "  From  here  farewell !  " 

He  turned  to  go. 

"Raimund!"  screamed  the  princess,  rising  suddenly 
from  her  chair  and  clinging  to  her  son,  "  what  do  you 
mean  to  do  .''  " 

"  Nothing  mean,  be  sure,"  he  said,  trying  to  disen- 
gage himself  gently  from  her  arms.     "  Farewell !  " 

"  Go  then,  barbarian,  and  murder — "  She  could  not 
finish;  the  terrible  excitement  of  these  last  two  scenes 
was  too  much  for  her  suffering  nerves ;  she  sank  faint- 
ing upcm  her  chair. 

At  that  moment  Nadeska  came  back.  A  glance  at 
the  scene  in  the  room  told  her  what  had  happened. 


526  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  You  will  kill  the  poor  lady,"  she  said,  hastening  to 
assist  her  fainting  mistress.  "And  why  all  this?  It 
will  never  be  known." 

The  prince  laughed.     It  was  a  fearful  laugh. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Nadeska .''  "  he  said.  "  But  suppose 
you  talked  in  your  dreams .?  Or  have  you  sold  your 
dreams  also  to  the  princess  V 

He  beat  his  forehead  with  his  closed  fist  and  rushed 
out. 


CHAPTER     XV. 

AS  the  prince  hurried  through  the  ante-room,  like 
Orestes  driven  by  the  furies,  he  met  the  Baroness 
Grenwitz,  who  came  to  take  leave  of  the  princess. 
He  thought  he  would  sink  into  the  ground  for  shame, 
as  she  looked  fixedly  into  his  eyes.  She  said  something 
to  him,  but  he  did  not  hear  what  it  was.  His  ears  were 
ringing  with  strange  sounds.  He  uttered  an  inarticu- 
late sound,  which  was  to  represent  an  apology.  Then 
he  rushed  out. 

The  baroness  followed  him  with  a  sombre,  suspicious 
look. 

Anna  Maria  had  not  had  a  happy  moment  since  she 
had  entered  the  house.  The  reception  last  night  had 
touched  her  to  the  quick.  The  constrained  manner  of 
the  prince,  the  unprofitable  eff"orts  of  the  princess  to 
give  to  the  interview  a  more  cordial  tone,  the  thinly- 
veiled  irony  of  the  count,  who  ridiculed  every  affection- 
ate word — all  this  had  filled  her  with  sad  apprehensions 
for  Helen's  future.  She  had  passed  the  night  without 
sleep,  thinking  over  the  riddle,  and  again  and  again  she 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  princess  must  have 
been  faithless  to  her  husband  at  some  time  in  her  life, 
and  that  the  count  thus  had  an  iron  hold  on  her.  Per- 
haps the  striking  want  of  resemblance  between  father 
and  son  might  have  contributed  to  such  a  conclusion. 
Thus  she  had  risen  late  in  very  bad  humor,  and  with 


Through  Night  to  Light.  527 

a  violent  nervous  headaclie,  and  was  rather  pleased  io 
learn  that  Miss  Helen  had  driven  out  to  visit  her  friend, 
Sophie.  Helen  had  scarcely  left  the  house  when  two 
letters  were  brought  in,  one  from  Grunwald,  the  other 
from  the  city  itself  She  opened  the  one  from  Grun- 
wald first.  The  news  of  Malte's  illness  filled  her  with 
consternation.  She  had  always  trembled  for  his  life, 
from  childhood  up  ;  were  her  fears  to  be  realized  now .'' 
And  if  Make  should  die — oh  that  God  in  His  great 
mercy  would  prevent  that  1 — the  whole  entailed  estate 
went,  now  that  Felix  also  was  no  more,  to  a  Captain 
Grenwitz,  the  son  of  her  former  husband's  first  cousin, 
a  beggar,  whom  she  had  never  liked,  and  who  had  al- 
ways looked  like  a  hungry  pike  eagerly  snapping  at  the 
estate.  He  was  henceforth  to  be  master  at  Grenwitz.? 
Why,  after  all,  she  would  have  preferred  to  find  out  that 
Oswald  Stein  was  really  Harald's  legitimate  son. 

Mechanically  she  opened  the  second  letter.  It  was 
from  Albert  Timm  and  ran  thus : 

"  Madame : — After  our  last  interview  you  will  not  be 
surprised  if  I  now  use  ^he  weapons  against  you,  which  I 
until  then  had  been  using /<?;-  you.  Mr.  Stein  has  been 
fully  informed.  Before  the  year  is  out — you  may  rely 
on  it — he  is  master  of  Stantow  and  Baerwalde,  and  you 
will,  besides,  have  to  pay  the  back  interest  for  twenty- 
four  years.  This  is  simple  ruin  for  you.  I  might  rub 
my  hands  with  delight  at  your  discomfiture ;  but  Albert 
Timm  is  a  good-natured  fellow  and  offers  you  a  piece 
of  good  advice  in  return  for  your  ingratitude.  Make 
your  peace  with  Mr.  Stein  before  it  is  too  late  !  Better 
a  small  sacrifice  than  an  entire  loss.  I  send  your  ad- 
versary to  you  ;  receive  him  kindly,  and  if  you  are  wise 
give  him  the  hand  of  your  daughter,  who  loves  him 
madly.  The  princely  match  is  anyhow  at  an  end,  con- 
sidering that  the  prince  is  not  the  son  of  a  count,  but  of 
a  rope-dancer,  and  the  matter  is  in  such  a  position  that 
the  whole  world  will  soon  enjoy  the  grand  scandal. 
But  I  must  resist  your  desire  to  hear  the  full  explana- 
tion of  this  interesting  affair,  which  you  might  disre- 
gard as  you  disregarded  certain  other  explanations  of 
mine.     Perhaps  you  may  change  your  mind  after  the 


«2  8  Through  Night  to  Light. 

interview  with  Mr.  Stein,  and  become  convinced  of  the 
sincere  friendship  with  which  I  have  the  honor,  etc.,  etc." 

At  any  other  time  tlie  baroness  would  have  looked 
upon  this  letter  merely  as  a  renewed  effort  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Timm  to  regain  his  lost  position  ;  but  this  morn- 
ing her  mind  was  so  disturbed  that  the  letter  and  every- 
thing else  appeared  to  her  in  quite  a  new  light.  Was  not, 
after  all,  everything  and  anything  possible  in  this  false 
world.''  It  was  evident  that  this  Mr.  Timm  knew  more 
than  most  people,  and  at  all  events  the  persistence  with 
which  he  adhered  to  his  statements  was  very  remarkable. 
Even  Felix  in  his  last  letter  had  admitted  the  fact ! 

The  usual  energy  of  the  baroness  gradually  gave  way 
under  the  heavy  pressure.  And  now  Helen,  whom  she 
had  sent  for,  was  not  coming  back  ;  and  in  an  hour 
the  train  would  start  by  which  alone  she  could  reach 
Grunwald  next  day  !  Her  trunks  were  not  packed,  the 
question  whether  Helen  should  accompany  her  or  stay 
had  not  been  decided,  and  she  had  yet  to  take  leave  of 
the  princess  and  the  prince.  But  that,  at  all  events, 
could  be  done  in  Helen's  absence  !  Necessity  released 
her  from  the  rules  of  etiquette ;  and,  besides,  the  princess 
herself  had  asked  her  the  night  before  to  come  unan- 
nounced to  her  rooms. 

Thus  Anna  Maria  left  her  rooms  and  went  hastily 
down  the  long  passages  and  through  the  ante-rooms 
which  led  to  the  apartments  of  the  princess,  when  sud- 
denly the  prince  rushed  out,  evidently  in  a  high  state 
of  excitement,  and  passed  her  without  saying  a  word. 

"  That  is  strange !  "  said  the  baroness.  The  door  opened 
again  suddenly,  and  Nadeska  rushed  out  with  terror  in 
her  face. 

"  Where  is  the  princess  }  "  asked  the  baroness. 

"  In  there.  She  is  unweil.  No  one  is  coming  to  an- 
swer the  bell.     I  am  going  to  look  for  the  servants." 

"  Do  so  !  "  said  the  baroness.  '*  I  will  stay  in  the 
meantime  with  the  princess." 

Nadcskadid  not  look  as  if  she  liked  the  arrangement, 
but  she  dared  not  prevent  the  baroness  from  entering. 
She  hurried  away,  while  Anna  Maria  stepped  into  the 
rosy  twilight  of  the  apartments  of  the  princess. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  529 

She  was  still  lying  in  the  arm-chair  near  the  fire. 
Her  half-closed  eyes  and  the  convulsive  movements  of 
her  hands  showed  that  she  had  not  quite  recovered  yet 
from  a  fit  of  fainting. 

"  Give  me  back  my  son,  Nadeska  !  "  she  murmured. 
*'  He  must  not  wrestle  with  that  Hercules  ;  the  father  is 
stronger  than  the  son.  You  see  !  you  see  !  how  he  takes 
him  around  the  waist  and  lifts  him  up.  He  will  throw 
him  down,  here  at  my  feet.     "  There,  there " 

The  unfortunate  woman  broke  out  in  hysterics,  mixed 
with  a  horrible  laugh.     Between  times  she  raved  : 

"  Don't  let  the  count  know  !  The  count  will  tell  the 
baroness  !  The  baroness  will  tell  her  beautiful  daughter, 
and  then  she  wont  take  the  rope-dancer's  son  !  There 
he  comes,  his  head  cut  open,  and " 

A  fearful  cry  broke  from  the  bosom  of  the  sufferer. 
She  started  up,  and  stared  with  haggard  looks  at  the 
baroness.  Immediately  she  sank  back  once  more,  faint- 
ing anew.  Nadeska  came  in  with  a  couple  of  Russian 
maids.  She  seemed  to  be  anxious  to  get  the  baroness 
out  of  the  way. 

"The  princess  has  these  attacks  quite  often,"  she  said, 
in  her  smooth,  humble  manner,  while  the  servants  took 
up  the  fainting  lady  and  carried  her  into  her  bed-room, 
"  She  must  be  left  alone  in  such  cases ;  the  presence  of 
strangers  makes  it  only  Avorse." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  disturb  her,  my  dear,"  said  the 
baroness,  coldly ;  "  especially  as  I  have  to  leave  in  an 
hour.     I  shall  write  a  few  lines  to  her  grace." 

"  What  does  tliat  mean  .''  "  said  Nadeska.  "  Does  she 
also  know  more  than  slie  ought  to  know.-*  " 

The  baroness  returned  to  her  rooms  in  a  state  of  in- 
describable excitement.  What  was  that  she  had  seen 
and  heard  ?  The  wild  expression  in  the  prince's  face,  the 
confused  speeches  of  the  princess,  the  suspicious  man- 
ner of  the  waiting  woman,  who  evidently  knew  all 
about  the  family  drama — what  was  she  to  think  of  it  .>* 
What  ought  she  to  do  ?  It  was  perhaps  the  first  time  in 
her  life  that  the  clever,  sensible  woman  was  utterly  at 
a  loss.  But  was  not  the  ground  giving  way  under  her 
feet.'',  Was  the  indestructible  pillars  of  her  success  not 
23 


530  Through  Night  to  Light. 

snapping  suddenly  like  a  bruised  reed?  The  prince  a 
rope-dancer's  son  !  A  family  secret  anxiously  guarded 
for  twenty-odd  years,  suddenly  proclaimed  in  the  streets 
and  on  the  house-tops  !  Her  son,  the  legitimate  heir  to 
the  immense  estate,  sick  unto  death  !  An  unknown  scion 
of  a  former  OAvner,  rising  unexpectedly  from  obscurity, 
a  lost  will  in  his  right  hand,  which  made  him  owmer  of 
a  fortune  that  the  baroness  had  all  her  life  regarded 
as  her  own  !  And  what  would  Helen  say  ?  How  her 
pride  would  suffer  when  she  learnt  that  the  diamonds 
of  the  princely  crown  were  nothing  but  vile  glass, 
unfit  for  the  lowest  of  the  low ! 

A  carriage  came  dashing  into  the  court-yard.  It  was 
Helen.  The  heart  of  the  baroness  beat  as  if  the  deci- 
sive, moment  was  only  now  approaching.  A  few  anxious 
moments  and  the  beautiful  daughter  came,  pale  and  dis- 
tressed, into  the  room,  and  threw  herself  into  her  mother's 
arms  with  a  passionate  vehemence  which  contrasted 
most  strangely  with  her  usual  reserve  and  coldness. 

"  God  be  thanked  you  are  back !  "  said  Anna  Maria. 
"  I  must  go  ;  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  you  will  go  with  me !  " 

"  Can  you  ask  me .''  "  cried  Helen.  "  I  should  stay 
here,  and  without  you  .''  " 

"  Then  you  do  not  feel  happy  here,  Helen }  " 

"  No,  no !  I  do  not  love  the  prince !  I  have  never 
loved  him !  "  And  Helen  hid  her  face  on  her  mother's 
bosom. 

The  baroness  Avas  much  surprised.  Helen's  words, 
and  even  more  the  tone  in  which  she  said  them,  and 
her  whole  strange,  passionate  manner,  suddenly  gave 
her  an  utterly  new  insight  into  her  daughter's  charac- 
ter. She  had  a  dim  perception  that  large  portions  of 
her  inner  life  had  so  far  been  utterly  unknown  to  her, 
and  that  all  her  cleverness,  of  which  she  was  so  proud, 
had  not  enabled  her  to  see  clearly  in  her  own  daugh- 
ter's heart. 

"  Why  did  you  give  your  promise  then.?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  I  was — I  did  not  know  what  I  was 
doing.  But  now  I  do  know  it.  I  cannot  marry  the 
prince ;  he  must  give  me  back  my  word.  If  you  insist 
upon  the  marriage  I  shall  die !  " 


Through  Night  to  Light.  531 

"And  if  I  do  not  insist  ?  " 

It  was  now  Helen's  turn  to  be  surprised.  She  looked 
at  the  baroness  with  wondering  eyes. 

"As  I  say,  my  dear  child,  I  have  made  certain  discov- 
eries this  morning-  which  have  startled  me,  to  say  the 
least,  very  much,  and  which  have  brought  me  the  con- 
viction that  we  have  proceeded  in  this  whole  matter 
with  a  want  of  caution  which  might  possibly  have  been 
quite  disastrous  to  us  all." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  mamma !  '.'  said  Helen. 

"  Well,  it  is  hard  to  understand,"  said  Anna  Maria, 
plaintively.  "  I  hardly  know  where  my  head  is.  I  am 
perfectly  miserable !  " 

And  the  baroness  threw  herself  into  a  chair  as  if  she 
were  broken-hearted,  and  commenced  weeping  bitterly, 

Helen  had  never  seen  her  mother  weep.  The  un- 
usual sight  touched  her  deeply.  She  knelt  down  by 
her,  and  tried  to  console  her  with  kind,  soothing  words. 
But  it  was  all  in  vain. 

"  It  is  not  that  alone,  though  that  is  bad  enough," 
sobbed  Anna  Maria ;  "  but  we  also  are  threatened  with 
a  similar  exposure,"  and  under  the  pressure  of  a  mo- 
ment, yielding  to  the  natural  impulse  of  all  helpless 
sufferers  to  cling  to  others  at  any  hazard,  she  told 
Helen  in  a  few  words  all  about  Oswald's  claims  on  her 
fortune,  and  that  if  these  claims  should  be  legally  estab- 
lished she  and  her  daughter  alike  would  be  beggars. 

Helen  had  listened  to  her  in  breathless  excitement. 
Her  color  came  and  went  continually,  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  her  mother,  her  hand  held  her  mother's  hands 
with  a  firm  grasp. 

"  Beggars  !  you  say  ?  Better  so  and  a  clear  conscience 
than  in  abundance  and  fainting  with  anxiety !  Come, 
mamma,  I  am  not  afraid  of  poverty  !  You  have  often  told 
me  how  poor  you  were  before  you  Avere  married  to  papa. 
Why  should  I  be  better  off .''  I  do  not  see  that  being 
rich  has  made  you  happy,  or  papa  ;  he  told  me  so  in  his  last 
hour.  I  have  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes  how  much 
happier  people  are  who  have  nothing  but  their  affec- 
tion, who  rely  on  nothing  but  their  own  strength.  I 
have  strength;  I  can  and  will  work  for  you,  if  it  must  be 


532  Through  Night  to  Light. 

so.  But  now  let  us  go  away  from  here.  You  are  sick  and 
weary;  your  hand  is  icy  cold,  and  your  forehead  is 
burning;  stay,  do  not  get  up.  I  will  pack  your  things; 
you  need  not  trouble  yourself;  I  shall  be  down  in  five 
minutes." 

"No,"  said  the  baroness,  "let  me  do  that.  Mary  can 
help  me.  You  can  do  something  else  for  me.  We  can- 
not well  leave  without  writing  a  few  words  of  farewell 
to  the  princess,  as  she  is  too  unwell  to  see  us,  and  we 
are  in  such  a  hurry.  Sit  down  and  write  a  few  lines, 
kindly  and  politely,  but  neither  more  nor  less  than 
what  is  indispensable." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  said  Helen,  sitting  down  at  her  escri- 
toire, while  her  mother  went  into  the  adjoining  room. 

Helen  had  just  taken  up  her  pen  when  she  heard  a 
noise  behind  her  which  made  her  look  up.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  stood  Oswald,  deadly  pale,  his  large 
eyes,  brilliant  with  fever,  fixed  upon  her.  Helen  was 
so  terrified  that  she  could  not  speak  nor  move.  She 
thought  for  a  moment  it  was  an  apparition. 

Oswald  seemed  to  guess  so. 

"  It  is  really  I !  "  he  said.  "  Pardon  me  for  my  abrupt 
appearance.  I  asked  for  the  baroness  ;  they  showed  me 
in  here." 

"  I  will  call  my  mother,"  said  Helen,  rising. 

"  I  pray,  stay,"  said  Oswald;  "I  pray  you!  I  have 
only  two  words  to  say.  I  would  rather  say  them  to  you 
than  to  the  baroness." 

There  was  something  so  solemn  in  Oswald's  manner 
and  tone  of  voice  that  Helen  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse 
his  request. 

"  Will  you  sit  down  1 "  she  said,  sinking  herself  into  a 
chair  and  pointing  at  another  chair  near  her. 

Oswald  sat  down. 

"  1  do  not  know,  Miss  Helen,  if  your  mother  has 
spoken  to  you  of  certain  intrigues  by  which  she  has  been 
troubled  of  late,  and  which  originate  mainly  with  a  cer- 
tain Mr.  Timm  ?  "  • 

"  I  have  just  this  morning  heard  of  it  for  the  first 
time." 

"  That  was  my  own  fate.     And  this  is  what  brings  me 


Through  Night  to  Light.  533 

here.  I  cannot  bear  the  thought ;  I  believe  I  could  not 
die  quietly  if  I  thought  that  you  believed  me  capable  of 
employing  such  vile  means  against  you.  Will  you 
please  tell  the  baroness  so?  " 

"  I  will.  " 

"  And  tell  her  also,  I  pray,  and  believe  yourself,  how 
bitterly  I  regret  that  you  have  been  troubled  with  such 
a  matter." 

*ilt  was  nothing  but  an  invention  of  Mr.  Timm  !  " 

"No,  Miss  Helen!"  said  Oswald,  with  a  sorrowful 
smile.  "  I  presume  it  is  more  than  that.  I  am  only  too 
much  afraid  it  is  the  real  truth,  and  that  is  the  second 
reason  why  you  see  me  here." 

"  You  surely  do  not  imagine  we  would  refuse  to  ac- 
knowledge legitimate  claims  against  us  ?  " 

"  That  case  will  never  arise.  I  have  no  desire  to  make 
such  claims.  I  should  never  have  done  so,  under  any 
circumstances;    and  least  of  all  now." 

He  cast  a  look  around  him.  The  splendor  of  the 
apartment  reminded  him  forcibly  of  the  house  in  which 
he  was. 

"  Least  of  all  now  !  "  he  repeated.  "  Here  are  the 
papers  which  prove  this  most  unfortunate  of  all  stories, 
I  desire  the  baroness  to  take  them  and  to  keep  them,  so 
as  to  be  secure  at  all  times  against  that  man's  machina- 
tions." 

He  placed  the  documents  and  papers  which  Timm 
had  brought  him  a  few  hours  before  upon  Helen's  es- 
critoire, and  bowed  to  take  leave. 

"  One  moment,  sir !  "  said  Helen,  rising  likewise.  "  Do 
you  imagine  my  mother  will  accept  such  a  gift  }  Who 
has  given  you  the  right  to  think  so  little  of  us  ">  " 

"  I  think.  Miss  Helen,  your  pride  misleads  you  in  this 
instance.  There  is  evidently  no  one  whom  this  whole 
matter  concerns  except  myself,  and  I  desire  to  be  relieved 
of  an  unpleasant  suspicion.  It  was  hardly  necessary  to 
remind  me  that  a  few  hundred  thousand  dollars,  more 
or  less,  mattered  little  to  the  mother  of  the  owner  of 
Grenwitz,  and  to  the  betrothed  of  Prince  Waldenberg." 

"  Circumstances  ought  not  to  affect  our  duties,"  re- 
plied the  young  girl,  rising  to  her  full  height  and  curv- 


534  Through  Night  to  Light. 

ing  her  lips  contemptuously ;  "  and  you  need  not  believe 
that  I  am  so  indifferent  to  your  claims  because  I  am 
proud  of  our  wealth  and  our  rank.  We  are  at  this  very 
moment  on  the  point  of  leaving  for  Grenwitz,  where 
my  brother  is  lying  dangerously  ill;  and  there,  on  my 
escritoire,  lies  the  beginning  of  a  letter  in  which  the 
princess  will  be  told  that  I  shall  never  be  her  son's 
wife." 

Helen's  dark  eyes  were  sliining  brightly  ;  thehotbl()od 
gave  greater  depth  to  the  red  on  her  cheeks.  Oswald 
had  never  seen  her  so  beavitiful,  so  marvellously  beauti- 
ful. And  this  at  the  moment  when  he  had  already  in 
his  heart  bid  farewell  to  life,  which  had  no  longer  any 
charms  for  him.  Just  now  this  glorious  beauty,  this 
highest  beau-ideal  of  his  wildest  dreams,  must  present 
herself  to  him,  not  at  an  inapproachable  distance,  but 
within  reach  attainable  to  his  bold  desires — to  his  firm 
willj  perhaps  !  Why  did  she  tell  him  that  she  would 
never  marry  the  prince  ?  And  wliy  did  she  tell  it  in  such 
a  defiant  tone,  if  she  did  not  mean  to  humble  him — the 
weak,  hesitating,  fickle  man — by  the  strength  of  her  will, 
by  the  promptness  with  which  she  abandoned  all  this 
splendor,  merely  in  order  to  remain  true  to  herself? 

These  thoughts  passed  swiftly  through  Oswald's  mind, 
which  worked  all  the  faster  as  he  had  been  so  long 
sleepless  and  feverish.  He  knew  that  she  would  never 
have  told  him  all  this  if  she  had  not  loved  him  at  some 
time  or  other  ;  if  she  did  not  perhaps  still  love  him  ;  and 
yet  he  knew  with  absolute  certainty  that  they  were 
separated  from  each  other  irretrievably  by  all  that  had 
happened.  There  was  therefore  no  bitterness,  but  deep 
sadness  in  his  voice,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  immoveably 
upon  the  heavenly  beauty  before  him  and  said,  slowly : 

"  Let  us  not  sadden  one  another  still  more  by  violent, 
bitter  words  !  Who  knows  whether  we  sliall  ever  speak 
to  each  other  again  1  I  feel  like  a  dying  man,  and  what 
I  am  going  to  say  I  do  not  say  for  myself,  but  from  an 
earnest  desire  to  state  the  truth.  Helen,  I  have  loved 
you  from  the  hour  when  I  saw  you  first  in  the  park  at 
Grenwitz  !  I  have  never  forgotten  that  moment.  I 
know  that  you  also  would  have  loved  me  if  I  had  but 


Through  Night  to  Light.  535 

been  true  to  myself;  you  might  have  become  my  own. 
But  when  I  forsook  myself  you  also  forsook  me,  and 
now  there  is  an  abyss  between  us  over  which  there  is 
no  bridge.  And  what  seemed  to  be  about  to  bring  us 
together — the  discovery  of  this  morning — only  parts  us 
forever.  I  feel  it  clearly.  You  will  never  be  disposed 
to  accept  a  gift,  as  you  call  it;  and  I  would  rather  burn 
my  right  hand  than  stretch  it  out  after  the  inheritance 
of  a  man  who  has  made  my  mother  the  most  wretched 
of  women.  There  is  no  peace  possible  between  us,  even 
if  everything  else  were  as  it  ought  to  be.  And  now, 
Helen,  before  we  part  —  probably  forever  —  one  more 
request:  give  me  your  hand  across  that  gulf  which  parts 
us,  as  a  token  that  I  am  forgiven  !  " 

Helen  laid  her  hand  in  Oswald's  hand. 

Thus  they  stood  and  looked  deep  into  each  other's 
eyes ;  and  as  they  so  looked  they  saw  all  the  golden 
summer  mornings  in  the  past  at  Grenwitz  under  the 
whispering  trees,  and  all  the  purple-glowing  evenings 
in  the  green  beech  woods  near  the  sea-shore — and  then 
they  saw  nothing  more,  for  a  close  veil  of  tears  hid  the 
enchanting  images. 

"  Farewell,  Helen  !  " 

"  Farewell,  Oswald  !  " 

"  Forever!  " 

"  Forever !  " 

Oswald  did  not  take  the  beloved  one  in  his  arms;  a 
feeling  of  holy  reverence  kept  him  back.  He  felt  it,  the 
time  for  repentance  which  was  granted  to  him  was  too 
short,  and  swearing  new  vows  which  he  felt  no  strength 
to  keep  was  not  making  amends  for  so  many  broken 
vows. 

He  let  the  hand  go  which  he  had  held  in  his  own,  and 
— the  next  moment  Helen  was  alone. 

She  was  still  standing  so,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  door 
through  which  Oswald  had  disappeared,  when  the  bar- 
oness came  back  to  the  room. 

"  It  is  high  time,  Helen,"  she  said ;  "  the  carriage  is 
waiting.     Are  you  ready .''  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  papers  are  those  on  the  escritoire?  " 


536  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Did  he  not  take  them  again  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Oswald." 

"  Has  he  been  here  ?     What  did  he  want  ?  " 

"  He  came  to  say  good-by.  Take  those  papers, 
mother.     He  brought  tliem  to  you." 

"  Helen,  you  look  pale ;  and  you  have  been  crying ! 
What  does-  that  mean  .?  Do  you  love  that  man  .'  Must 
I  lose  my  last  child  then  }  " 

"  Be  calm,  mamma.  I  shall  not  leave  you  in  our  mis- 
fortune. There  is  the  letter  to  the  princess.  One  mo- 
ment, mother." 

She  sat  down-  and  wrote  in  great  haste  a  few  lines. 

"  Well,  that  is  done  !  I  am  free  once  more !  Come, 
mamma ;  I  will  show  you  that  I  have  still  strength  and 
courage  enough  for  life.     Come !  " 

And  she  drew  the  baroness,  who  willingly  yielded 
herself  up  to  her  daughter's  superior  energy,  Avith  her 
out  of  the  room. 

A  minute  later  the  two  ladies  had  left  Waldenberg 
House,  and  half  an  hour  afterwards  the  train  carried 
them  away  from  the  city. 


CHAPTER     XVI. 

AS  Oswald  hurried  down  the  street,  scarcely  know- 
ing what  he  was  doing,  he  felt  suddenly  some 
one  seize  him  by  the  arm. 
It  was  Mr.  Timm. 

After  his  encounter  with  Mr.  Schmenckel  INIr.  Timm 
had  been  compelled  to  abandon  his  post  of  observation 
near  the  princess's  house  in  order  to  go  into  the  court- 
yard of  one  of  the  adjoining  houses,  and  there  wash 
off  the  blood  which  the  director's  weighty  fist  had 
drawn  from  mouth  and  nose.  Timm  was  as  angry  as 
he  had  ever  been  in  his  life.  It  was  the  rage  of  the 
hunter  when  he  sees  a  wild  beast  tearing  his  cunningly- 


Through  Night  to  Light.  537 

woven  nets  and  escaping  from  his  most  ingenious  trap. 
Tlris  booby  of  a  Schmenckel,  with  his  stupid  honesty  ! 
How  he  had  worked  at  the  man  to  dazzle  him  witla 
golden  prospects ;  and  now!  It  was  enough  to  turn  a 
man's  brain  !  The  glorious  fortune  all  lost !  And 
why  ?  For  nothing  but  a  fit  of  honesty  !  And  if  Os- 
wald, too,  should  be  such  a  fool !  These  blockheads  can 
never  be  left  alone  for  a  moment !  And  just  now  the 
bleeding  will  not  stop  !  What  enormous  strength  that 
fellow  has ! 

Thus  it  came  that  the  martyr  of  stupid  honesty  saw 
neither  Mr.  Schmenckel  nor  the  prince  leave  the  house, 
nor  Oswald  go  in,  and  he  was  now  also  but  just  in  time 
to  overtake  the  latter  as  he  was  rather  running  than 
walking  down  the-  street. 

"Hallo!  sir!  " 

"What  is  it?" 

"Well,  laskjw^  that!" 

"  Is  that  you  ?  " 

"  "\yho  else  1  How  did  it  go .?  Did  the  old  one  give 
in  promptly  .''  "  And  he  was  about  to  slip  his  arm  famil- 
iarly in  Oswald's  arm  ;  but  Oswald  stepped  back. 

"  Don't  touch  me  !  "  he  said,  "  or  I  beat  your  brains 
out!" 

"Oh  ho!"  said  Timm,  giving  way ;  "is  he,  too,  crazy.'' " 

"  Wretch !  "  cried  Oswald.  "  You  wretch  !  who  make 
vulgarity  your  profession,  and  speculate  on  vice.  Let 
me  never  find  you  again  in  my  way,  or  you  wiU  repent 
it!  " 

He  left  Timm,  who  had  first  turned  ashy  pale  and 
then  broken  out  into  loud  laughter,  and  hurried  away. 
He  did  not  mind  where  his  feet  carried  him  !  He  went 
as  in  a  dream,  and  what  he  saw  and  heard  appeared  to 
him  only  like  dreamy  images  :  curious,  terrified  faces 
of  women  and  children  in  doors  and  windows;  dense 
crowds  of  men,  who  seemed  to  tell  each  other  fearful 
things  with  wild  gestures  and  loud  exclamations  ;  run- 
ning and  shouting,  yelling  and  whistling  on  all  sides, 
and  between  the  mournful  ring  of  alarm-bells  from  all 
the  steeples.  Then,  as  Oswald  left  the  aristocratic  por- 
tion of  the  town  further  and  further  behind  him,  a  new 


538  Through  Night  to  Light. 

sound  mingled  with  the  others  :  a  very  peculiar  rattling 
noise,  and  a  low  thundering,  which  made  the  very 
houses  tremble. 

But  all  this  did  not  rouse  him  from  his  waking  dream. 
The  sorrow  for  his  ruined  happiness  had  made  him  blind 
and  deaf  to  the  sorrow  of  a  w:hole  ill-treated  nation. 
Suddenly  a  ghastly  spectacle  startled  him.  From  one  of 
the  side  streets  a  young  man  came  running  out,  who 
cried :  "  Treason  !  treason  !  They  are  firing  at  us !"  The 
young  man's  blouse  w^as  torn  and  covered  with  blood  ; 
his  face  was  pale,  his  hair  dishevelled  ;  he  staggered  like 
a  drunken  man,  and  suddenly  he  fell  down  right  before 
Oswald.  Oswald  raised  him  up,  and  in  an  instant  a 
crowed  of  men  and  women  were  around  them.  "  He  is 
dying  !  "  cried  the  men.  "A  curse  upon  the  execution- 
ers !  "  The  women  shrieked.  One  cried  out:  "Take 
him ;  don't  you  see  the  gentleman  can  hardly  stand  him- 
self!  "  A  man  took  the  dying  youth  from  Oswald's 
arms.  Suddenly  Oswald  felt  some  one  touch  him.  He 
turned  around  and  saw  Berger.  Oswald's  soul  had 
during  the  last  hovirs  been  so  overwhelmed  with 
strange,  exceptional  events  and  sensations  that  he  was 
prepared  even  for  the  most  extraordinary  occurrences. 
And  if  there  was  a  man  in  this  world  whom  he  wished 
to  see  just  then  it  was  his  friend  and  teacher,  the  com- 
panion of  his  fate.  Oswald  did  not  ask  him  how  ?  and 
whence  .'*     He  threw  himself  into  Berger's  arms. 

"  Glad  you  are  there,"  said  the  other,  hurriedly ; 
"  come !  let  the  dead  bury  the  dead.  We  must  work  and 
be  doing  as  long  as  it  is  day!  " 

They  hastened  off  together. 

With  every  step  they  came  nearer  to  the  crater  of  the 
revolution  w^hich  had  broken  out  a  few  hours  before.  In 
this  part  of  the  city  barricades  were  going  up,  built  by 
a  thousand  brave  and  skilful  hands,  and  manned  by 
death-defying  men  and  boys,  mostly  belonging  to  the 
lower  classes  of  the  people.  These  improvised  fortresses 
did  not  inspire  much  hope  of  being  able  to  resist  long, 
for  they  consisted  mostly  of  one,  or  at  best  of  several, 
heavy  wagons,  torn-ofF  planks,  andother  similar  objects, 
hastily  piled  up  together,  while  the  arms  of  the  small 


Through  Night  to  Light.  539 

garrison  were  generally  only  rusty  old  swords,  pikes, 
guns  without  locks,  and  similar  instruments. 

Berger  stopped  here  and  there  giving  advice,  encour- 
aging others,  and  calling  with  liis  deep,  sonorous  voice: 
"To  arms  !  to  the  barricades  !  "  But  whenever  Oswald 
offered  to  lay  hand  on  the  work  himself  he  kept  him 
from  it. 

"  Not  here,"  he  said  ;  "  these  are  only  our  outposts, 
which  must  be  given  up  quickly.  No  barricade  can  be 
defended  successfully  in  this  straight,  wide  street.  The 
gross  of  the  revolution  is  further  back." 

Thus  they  came  to  Broad  street,  near  Mrs.  Black's 
private  hotel. 

The  hotel  was  a  corner  house,  and  a  narrow  by-street 
led  past  its  side  into  Brother  street.  In  the  narrow 
alley  was  the  Dismal  Hole.  Here  the  excitement  was 
intense.  From  the  great  square,  near  the  palace,  platoon 
firing  was  heard,  and  quite  a  cannonade ;  but  no  trace 
of  barricades  was  yet  to  be  seen. 

"  Are  these  men  mad  .''  "  cried  Berger.  "  If  they  do  not 
mean  to  throw  up  fortifications  here,  where  will  they 
do  it } " 

On  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  surrounded  by  a  crowd, 
stood  a  gentleman  in  a  white  cravat  who  spoke  eagerly 
to  :he  people  :  "  His  majesty  has  been  pleased  to  re- 
ceive the  deputation."  "Away  with  your  majesty!" 
cried  an  angry  voice.  "  His  majesty  is  pleased  to  shoot 
his  faithful  subjects  and  to  receive  them  with  grape- 
shot!  "  cried  another  voice.  "Gentlemen!"  shrieked 
the  orator,  "  do  not  give  way  to  feelings  of  hatred  and 
revenge.  His  majesty  consents  to  withdraw  the  troops 
as  soon  as  you  lay  down  your  arms."  "  And  as  soon  as 
we  offer  our  throats  to  the  knife!  "  cried  a  tremendous 
voice,  and  a  man  suddenly  stood  by  the  side  of  the  ora- 
tor in  the  white  cravat. 

It  was  Berger.  His  gray  hair  was  hanging  wildly 
around  his  uncovered  head  ;  his  eyes  were  burning  as 
if  the  revolution  itself  had  taken  his  form  and  voice. 
"  Will,"  he  continued,  "  you  hesitate,  and  fear,  and  nego- 
tiate, while  your  brethren  are  murdered  in  the  next 
street.''     Are  you  ever  going  on  trusting,  you  trusting, 


54°  Through  Night  to  Light. 

deceived,  cheated  people  ?  You  will  gain  nothing  but 
what  you  conquer,  arms  in  hand  ;  you  will  have  no  lib- 
erty which  you  do  not  purchase  with  your  blood.  Do 
not  chaffer  and  bargain  any  longer,  but  give  the  high 
price — your  life's  blood! — for  the  precious  boon  ! — for 
liberty !     To  arms !     To  arms !  " 

"To  arms  !  To  arms  !  "  It  resounded  with  the  voice 
of  thunder  on  all  sides.    "  Victory  or  death  !    To  arms!" 

The  unarmed  hands  rose  ,  as  if  to  swear,  into  the  air. 

Berger  had  hurried  down  the  steps.  They  surrounded 
him  ;  they  pressed  his  hands.  Some  asked  him  to  "take 
the  matter  in  hand  ;  "  a  leader  they  must  have. 

■  Berger  looked  around.  Suddenly  he  rushed  towards 
a  tall,  thin  gentleman  who  was  pushing  his  way  through 
the  crowd. 

"  There  is  your  man  !  "  he  cried,  taking  the  tall  stran- 
ger by  the  hand. 

"  He  must  be  our  leader.  Step  up  there,  Oldenburg, 
and  speak  to  them  only  a  few  words.  You  understand 
that  better  than  anybody  else  !  " 

Oldenburg  was  on  the  porch. 

"  Gentlemen  !  "  he  said,  raising  his  hat ;  "  let  us  follow 
the  fashion  of  the  day  and  build  a  barricade.  I  have 
practiced  the  art  a  fortnight  ago  for  a  little  while  in  the 
streets  of  Paris.  If  you  will  make  use  of  my  experi- 
ence for  want  of  a  better  man,  I  am  heartily  at  your  ser- 
vice. I  am  ready  to  build  with  you,  to  fight  with  you, 
to  conquer  with  you,  and,  if  it  must  be,  to  die  with  you !  " 

The  iron  ring  in  Oldenburg's  voi-ce,  his  easy  and  yet 
so  persuasive  manner  of  speaking,  had  a  charm  which 
the  crowd  could  not  resist.  It  flashed  like  an  electric 
shock  through  all  hearts. 

"  You  shall  be  our  leader !  "  they  cried  on  all  sides. 
"  Let  the  black-beard  be  our  captain  !  " 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Oldenburg,  raising  his  voice ;  "  every 
man  to  the  barricade  !  " 

The  magic  word  brought  about  incredible  activity. 
The  confused,  helpless  mass  suddenly  came  to  order. 
In  all  minds  but  one  thought  seemed  to  be  uppermost — 
to  build  a  barricade — and  all  hands  were  busy  at  the  one 
common  work. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  541 

"  We  must  be  done  in  ten  minutes  !"  said  Oldenburg, 
"  or  we  might  just  as  well  not  have  commenced  at  all." 

Oldenburg's  marvellous  coolness  and  quickness,  his 
sharp  eye  and  his  firm  decision,  did  honor  to  his  place 
as  leader.  He  seemed  to  be  everywhere  at  once,  and  his 
clear,  loud  voice  was  heard  at  all  points.  Here  they 
tore  up  the  pavement  as  he  commanded ;  there  they 
raised  the  large  slabs  of  the  sidewalk  to  arm  the  sides 
of  the  upturned  wagons,  which  had  to  serve  as  bulwarks 
here,  as  well  as  in  all  places  where  time  is  pressing. 
Doors  taken  from  their  hinges,  planks  bridging  over 
gutters,  bags  filled  with  sand,  completed  the  strength  of 
this  structure,  which  rose  Avith  a  rapidity  proportionate 
to  the  feverish  excitement  that  beat  in  all  hearts.  Every 
muscle,  every  sinew,  Avas  strained  to  the  utmost ;  boys 
were  carrying  loads  which  ordinarily  a  man  would  have 
considered  heavy  ;  men  Avho  only  knew  how  to  use  a  pen 
suddenly  seemed  to  be  endowed  with  muscles  of  steel. 
Above  all,  however,  a  man  in  a  Avorn-out  velvet  coat  sig- 
nalized himself  by  exploits  in  comparison  with  which 
all  the  rest  seemed  to  be  but  the  work  of  pigmies. 
Wherever  anything  was  to  be  lifted  or  to  be  dragged 
which  no  one  could  master,  they  called  laughingly  for 
"  Hercules" — the  popular  voice  had  given  him  the  name 
after  the  first  five  minutes  —  and  Hercules  ran  up, 
stretched  out  his  mighty  arms,  or  leaned  his  broad 
shoulders  against  it,  and  the  immoveable  mass  seemed  of 
a  sudden  to  become  a  mere  trifle. 

"  Bravo,  Mr.  Schmenckel !  "  said  Oldenburg,  patting 
the  giant  on  the  back  ;  "  but  spare  your  strength  ;  we 
shall  need  it  all." 

"  PshaAV,  your  excellenc)',  baron !"  replied  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  face 
with  his  sleeve  ;   "that  is  not  anything." 

"  Hercules,  here  !  "  some  one  called. 

"Coming!  "'  replied  Mr.  Schmenckel,  and  hurried  to 
where  he  was  wanted. 

"  Now  we  want  the  best !  "  murmured  Oldenburg,  look- 
ing at  Avhat  had  been  done  and  casting  an  inquiring 
glance  at  the  roofs  of  the  houses  on  both  sides  of  the 
barricade,  where  men  were  busy  taking  off  the  slates 


542  Through  Night  to  Light. 

and  tiles  as  he  had  directed.  If  Berger  does  not  bring 
arms  all  our  work  is  for  nothing." 

Just  then  Berger  came  with  five  or  six  young  men. 
Each  of  them  had  a  rifle.  Others  were  dragging  along 
a  large  bag  filled  with  ammunition. 

Berger,  who  had  anticipated  the  revolution  for  several 
days  and  made  his  preparations  in  his  mind,  knew  all 
the  gunsmiths  and  shops  where  arms  were  kept  in  the 
whole  neighborhood.  He  had  taken  possession  of  the 
nearest.  A  shout  of  joy  arose  when  the  little  troop 
reached  the  barricade.  Soon  after  an  old  fowling-piece 
and  a  rusty  gun  with  an  old-fashioned  flint-lock  were 
brought  up,  and  last  of  all  four  pistols  from  the  lodgings 
of  a  couple  of  officers  which  had  been  luckily  discov- 
ered. The  arms  were  at  once  distributed,  and  every 
man  had  his  post  assigned  him.  Every  armed  man  had 
another  man  by  him  to  load.  In  the  kitchen,  in  the 
basement  of  an  adjoining  house,  bullets  were  cast  under 
the  direction  of  an  old  one-eyed  man  who  was  an  old 
soldier;  and  boys,  merry  storm-petrels  of  every  barri- 
cade-fight, were  appointed  to  carry  the  balls  to  the  de- 
fenders. 

The  quarter  of  an  hour  which  Oldenburg  had  allowed 
as  the  longest  time  that  could  be  given  to  the  erection 
of  the  barricade  was  out,  and  the  very  next  moment 
showed  how  accurately  he  had  calculated.  The  rifles 
had  but  just  been  loaded  and  the  men  had  taken  their 
places  when  a  battalion  of  infantry  came  marching  up 
the  street.  A  major  rode  at  the  head.  He  ordered 
"  Halt !  "  at  some  distance  from  the  barricade,  and  rode 
up  alone  till  within  a  few  yards.  He  was  an  old,  gray- 
haired  soldier  with  a  good-natured  face,  who  evidently 
did  not  like  the  duty  he  had  to  fulfil.  His  voice 
sounded  wavering,  and  trembled  a  little  as  he  raised  it 
as  high  as  he  could,  and  said, 

"  You,  there !  I  must  get  through  here  with  my  men  ; 
and  if  you  do  not  take  that  thing  there  out  of  my  way 
willingly,  I  shall  have  to  use  force.  I  should  be  sorry, 
for  your  sake,  to  have  to  do  so." 

Oldenburg  appeared  on  the  barricade. 

"  In  the  name  of  these  men  !  "  he  said,  raising  his  hat 


Through  Night  to  Light.  543 

politely  to  the  major,  "I  declare  that  we  are  determined 
to  stand  by  each  other,  and  to  hold  this  barricade  as  long 
as  we  can !  " 

Oldenburg's  appearance  and  his  words  evidently  made 
an  impression  on  the  old  soldier. 

"  You  are  the  leader  of  these  men  ?  " 

"  I  have  that  honor." 

"  You  seem  to  be  an  intelligent  man.  Then  you  must 
seQ  that  that  thing  there  is  of  no  avail,  and  that  your 
few  charges  cannot  possibly  do  you  any  good.  Pull 
that  thing  down;  it  is  all  right." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  comply  with  your  request,  and 
must  adhere  to  my  resolution." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  major,  more  annoyed  than  angry, 
"you  will  all  go  to  the  devil." 

With  these  words  he  turned  his  horse  and  galloped 
back  to  his  men. 

Oldenburg  was  glad  when  the  conversation  was  at  an 
end.  His  quick  eye  had  showed  him  that  the  kindly 
words  of  the  major  had  not  failed  to  make  an  impression 
on  the  crowd,  and  that  more  than  one  looked  undecided 
and  doubtful.  In  a  mass  of  people  enthusiasm  effer- 
vesces quickly.     He  turned  round  and  said  : 

"  If  there  is  one  among  you  who  had  rather  live  for 
country  and  liberty  than  die  for  them,  he  had  better 
say  so  now.     It  is  time  yet !  " 

The  men  stood  motionless  and  silent.  Many  a  heart 
no  doubt  beat  painfully,  but  every  one  felt  that  the  die 
was  cast,  and  that  it  would  be  disgraceful  treason  to 
turn  back  now. 

The  drums  beat  on  the  opposite  side,  and  the  terrible 
summons  drove  every  hesitation  out  of  their  hearts. 

Oldenburg  cried,  with  a  voice  which   drowned  the 
rattling  of  the  drums  like  loud  trumpet-sound  :  "  Every 
man  to  his  post !     Not  a  shot  before  I  give  the  signi 
Not  a  stone  must  move  !  " 

Oldenburg  remained  standing  on  the  top  of  the  bai»- 
ricade  and  saw  the  column  approaching  at  quick-step  ; 
in  the  centre  the  drummers,  and  the  major,  who  com- 
manded with  his^sepulchral  voice, 

"Battalion!     Halt!     Aim!     Fire!" 


544  Through  Night  to  Light. 

The  flash  came ;  the  balls  hailed  upon  the  barricade 
and  the  walls  of  the  houses. 

"  Shoulder  arms !     March !  " 

"  Hurrah !  "  cried  the  men,  rushing  with  charged 
bayonets  upon  the  barricade. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  Oldenburg,  still  standing  on  the 
barricade  and  waving  his  hat. 

And  the  rifles  of  the  little  garrison  gave  fire,  and  the 
stones  came  down  rattling  from  the  roofs  upon  the  heads 
of  the  unlucky  soldiers ;  and  when  the  smoke  and  the 
dust  slowly  blew  away,  the  company  which  had  come 
up  in  military  regularity  was  seen  running  away  in 
wild  flight,  and  before  them  a  riderless  horse,  and  be- 
tween them  little  groups  of  three  or  four  men  who  car- 
ried dead  or  wounded  men  on  litters  beyond  the  reach 
of  the  barricade. 

Of  the  men  of  the  people  only  one  had  been  wounded, 
and  not  by  a  hostile  ball ;  the  old,  rusty  flint-lock  had 
burst  at  the  first  discharge,  and  a  piece  of  it  had  struck 
the  head  of  one  of  the  marksmen.  This  accident  only 
increased  the  good  humor  of  the  company.  They  cried 
hurrah !  they  congratulated  each  other,  they  laughed, 
they  joked,  and  everybody  was  in  the  best  of  humor. 

There  was  perhaps  but  one  man  behind  the  barricade 
who  did  not  share  the  general  joy,  and  this  man  was 
Oldenburg.  He  was  as  fully  convinced  as  any  one  that 
fight  they  must,  but  he  doubted  a  happy  issue.  He  had 
been  in  Paris  during  the  month  of  February  ;  he  had 
fought  there ;  and  he  could  not  but  see  the  difference. 
There  he  had  seen  a  people  fully  conscious  of  the  weak- 
ness of  the  government  against  which  they  rose,  and 
clearly  vmderstanding  the  whole  situation ;  here  he 
found  nothing  but  uncertainty,  divided  opinions,  and 
doubts.  But  the  genius  of  mankind  does  not  always 
require  a  clear,  perfect  understanding  in  its  defenders ; 
a  vague  impulse,  a  dim  perception  even,  leads  often 
to  glorious  deeds.  These  harmless  men,  knowing  little 
of  politics,  and  quite  willing  to  rest  content  with  very 
small  concessions,  might  be  figliting  only  against  the 
brutal  rule  of  a  single  caste,  and  not  far  the  free  repub- 
lic of  the  future ;  but  great  eflTects  could  not  fail  to  be 


Through  Night  to  Light.  545 

obtained  even  here,  and  he  who  cuts  off  a  diseased  limb 
may  by  it  save  the  whole  body. 

Thus  Oldenburg  tried  to  console  himself  for  the  fears 
with  which  the  appearance  of  this  revolution  had  in- 
spired him.  He  had  been  on  the  square  near  the  palace 
when  the  fatal  two  shots  fell  which  were  destined  to  be 
the  signal  for  the  explosion,  and  when  the  troops  had 
made  their  first  attack  en  masse  against  the  unarmed 
multitude.  He  and  other  good  men  had  in  vain  tried 
to  stop  the  shedding  of  blood;  they  had  pushed  their 
way  through  the  soldiers  at  the  risk  of  their  lives  in  or- 
der to  explain  to  the  commanding  officer  the  madness 
of  such  a  butchery.  But  all  they  had  heard  in  reply 
was  open  scorn,  and  at  best  rude  orders  to  mind  their 
own  business.  When  Oldenburg  saw  that  he  could  not 
be  of  any  use  in  this  way,  and  that  matters  had  come  to 
a  crisis,  he  had  tried  to  reach  Melitta's  lodgings  in 
Broad  street  to  place  her  and  the  children  in  safety.  But 
he  had  been  compelled  to  make  a  wide  circuit,  for  the 
troops  had  already  taken  possession  of  all  the  approaches 
from  the  side  of  the  palace,  and  he  barely  escaped  more 
than  once  being  arrested.  Thus  it  happened  that  he 
reached  the  hotel  only  at  the  moment  when  the  people 
were  deliberating  whether  they  should  offer  resistance 
or  not.  Oldenburg  took  only  time  to  inquire  at  the 
hotel  after  Melitta,  where  he  heard  to  his  delight  that 
she  and  the  children  had  gone  early  in  the  morning 
already  to  Doctor  Braun's,  who  lived  in  a  remote  suburb, 
to  which  the  emeute  Avas  not  likely  to  extend.  Then  he 
had  thrown  himself  heart  and  soul  into  the  torrent  of 
the  revoiution. 

And  now  he  stood,  after  the  first  attack  had  been  suc- 
cessfully repulsed,  with  crossed  arms  on  the  barricade, 
in  a  sheltered  position,  from  which  he  could  overlook  at 
once  the  movements  of  the  enemy  and  the  5pace  behind 
the  barricade,  anxiously  awaiting  the  return  of  Berger, 
whom  he  had  sent  out  with  a  patrol  to  procure  if  possi- 
ble more  ammunition,  and  to  establish  a  communica- 
tion with  the  nearest  barricades.  For  so  far  the  rising 
was  without  any  organization ;  no  concerted  plan  to  pro- 
duce united  efforts;  every  barricade  was  fighting  by  it- 


546  Through  Night  to  Light. 

self.  Besides,  day-light  began  to  fade  away,  and  night, 
although  it  might  leave  the  troops  in  doubt  as  to  the 
strength  of  the  enemy,  also  tended  to  increase  the  con- 
fusion on  the  side  of  the  people,  which  is  always  an  ele- 
ment of  weakness  in  popular  risings.  Berger  returned 
soon  afterwards,  bringing  a  few  more  guns  but  no  com- 
fort. The  adjoining  streets,  he  reported,  were  also  bar- 
ricaded ;  but  the  barricades  were  badly  constructed,  and 
held  by  too  few  men,  especially  the  nearest  one,  in 
Brother  street. 

"  I  do  not  think  they  can  hold  it  long,"  he  added, 
**and  then  we  are  lost,  because  the  troops  can  flank 
us  here  through  this  narrow  alley  " — and  he  pointed  to 
Gertrude  street,  which  passed  by  the  hotel  and  led  from 
Broad  street  into  Brother  street.  "  We  must  necessarily 
stop  up  that  street  also  and  occupy  it,  which  can  easily 
be  done.  I  have  directed  Oswald  and  Schmenckel  to 
do  it  at  once." 

"  Whom  .?  "  inquired  Oldenburg,  who  had  no  suspi- 
cion that  Oswald  could  be  here,  and  thought  he  had 
misunderstood  Berger. 

But  he  had  not  time  to  wait  for  Berger's  reply,  for  at 
that  moment  the  drums  beat  once  more,  and  the  second 
company  came  up  to  storm  the  barricade.  This  time  the 
major  on  his  white  horse  was  not  there.  The  old  man, 
who  had  been  dangerously  wounded  in  the  head  by  a  ball, 
was  on  his  way  to  the  hospital. 

The  second  attack  was  more  serious,  although  no 
more  successful  than  the  first.  The  captain  in  command 
gave  the  order  to  fire  three  times  in  rapid  succession, 
and  then  rushed  his  men  with  great  violence  i^on  the 
barricade.  But  as  Oldenburg  and  his  men  had  again 
reserved  their  fire  till  the  last  moment,  the  loss  was 
very  great  for  the  attacking  party ;  upon  whom,  more- 
over, such  a  storm  of  bullets,  tiles,  and  stones  rained 
down  from  the  adjoining  houses  that  they  once  more 
retreated,  carrying  their  dead  and  wounded  with  them. 

But  this  time  the  men  of  the  people  also  had  their  losses. 
A  young  man  who  had  imprudently  exposed  himself 
was  shot  through  the  breast  and  died  instantly,  wliile 
another  had  his  arm  shattered  by  a  ricochet  ball. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  547 

Thus  the  men  of  the  barricade  had  had  their  blood 
baptism,  and  now  only  they  felt  as  if  they  were  indissol- 
ubly  bound  to  the  cause  of  the  revolution.  Men  who 
had  seen  each  other  to-day  for  the  first  time  shook 
hands  and  pledged  themselves  not  to  leave  each  other 
till  death  should  part  them  forever.  Women,  who  or- 
dinarily went  out  of  their  way  to  avoid  meeting  com- 
mon people,  now  went  about  among  the  fighting  men 
and  distributed  bread  and  wine.  Among  these  gentle 
Samaritans  one  was  especially  remarkable  by  her  stately 
appearance  and  her  venerable  gray  hairs.  It  was  Mrs. 
Black,  who  found  ample  opportunity  to-night  to  gratify 
her  passion  for  feeding  the  hungry  and  nursing  the 
sick. 

Oldenburg  now  suggested  what  he  had  learnt  in  Paris  to 
be  eminently  useful  under  such  circumstances :  that  lights 
should  be  placed  in  all  the  windows  which  looked  upon 
the  barricade,  so  as  to  improvise  a  brilliant  illumination, 
to  which  the  full-moon,  shining  bright  and  clear  on  the 
blue  sky,  contributed  generously.  It  was  a  strange  con- 
trast :  the  sacred  peace  high  up  in  the  heavenly  regions, 
and  down  here  a  city  raging  in  the  fever  of  revolution, 
where  the  howling  of  alarm-bells  and  the  thunder  of 
cannon,  the  rattling  of  small  arms  and  the  mad  cries  of 
the  combatants,  were  horribly  mingled  with  each  other. 
And  to  make  the  appalling  scene  still  more  so,  low,  hot 
clouds  of  smoke  came  now  floating  slowly  over  the  roofs 
of  the  houses.  Fire  had  broken  out  at  several  places  at 
once ;  the  city  was  threatened  with  a  universal  conflagra- 
tion I     Who  had  time  to-night  to  help  and  to  save  1 

Oldenburg  looked  for  Berger  but  could  not  see  him 
anywhere.  He  wanted  to  ask  what  he  had  meant  when 
he  spoke  of  Oswald,  for  he  now  recollected  having 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  man  who  had  reminded  him  some- 
what of  Oswald  Stein.  But  just  then  loud  cries  were 
heard  from  Gertrude  street,  and  a  few  shots  fell.  Olden- 
burg, fearing  the  troops  might  have  taken  the  barricade 
in  Brother  street  and  were  pushing  on  through  Ger- 
trude street,  rapidly  collected  a  handful  of  men  and  with 
them  rushed  down  into  that  street.  Here  had  been  a 
sr  "prise  in  contemplation,  and  the  danger  had  only  been 


548  Through  Night  to  Light. 

averted  by  Schmenckel's  giant  strength  and  by  the  heroic 
bravery  of  Berger  and  Oswald. 

Oswald  had  joined  the  barricade-builders  in  Gertrude 
street  in  order  to  avoid  Oldenburg,  whom  he  had  seen 
to  his  great  surprise  first  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel  in  the 
midst  of  the  excited  crowd,  and  then  as  captain  on  top 
of  the  barricade.  He  felt  it  impossible  to  meet  just  now 
the  man  whom  he  had  at  one  time  revered  as  a  superior 
being,  and  at  another  time  hated  as  his  bitterest  enemy. 
He  did  not  wish  to  renew  the  contest  between  such  feel- 
ings in  his  own  heart ;  he  was  so  weary,  weary  unto 
death!  The  excitement  around  him  felt  to  him  like  a 
song  rocking  him  to  sleep  with  his  weary  sick  heart, 
and  when  he  heard  the  first  bullets  Avhistle  around  him 
during  the  attack  upon  the  barricade  where  he  then 
was,  his  only  thought  w^as :  Oh,  that  one  of  them  were 
intended  for  me ! 

He  said  so  much  to  Berger,  as  they  were  sitting  on 
the  barricade  in  Gertrude  street  to  rest  for  a  moment 
from  their  exhausting  efforts. 

"  No,"  replied  Berger  ;  "  that  is  not  right.  Death  it- 
self does  not  pay  our  bills;  it  only  tears  them,  without 
paying  them,  and  throws  the  fragments  at  the  feet  of 
the  creditor.  But  death  in  the  cause  of  liberty ! — it  pays 
them  all." 

He  seized  Oswald's  hand,  looking  around  anxiously 
to  see  that  no  one  could  hear  them. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  life,  Oswald !  Death  is  a  fearful 
asylum,  in  which  one  may  awake  again !  Suicide  is 
such  a  death  to  me,  Oswald.  If  that  were  not  so  I 
should  long  since  have  died  by  my  own  hand.  For  it 
is  easier  to  die,  in  order  to  escape  from  ourselves,  than 
to  live  for  others.  I  have  found  that  out.  I  have  drunk 
the  bitter  cup,  and  the  dregs  are  very  bitter.  Oswald! 
at  first  I  had  courage  enough,  and  lived  bravely;  but 
after  six  months  of  such  life  my  courage  is  gone  and 
my  strength  exhausted.  My  nerves  cannot  bear  it  any 
longer.  That  is  why  I  feel  so  joyfully  this  day,  on  which 
the  people  have  at  last  shaken  off  their  disgracefid  apa- 
thy to  rise  in  might.  If  I  could  die  to-day  for  this 
people,  whom  now  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  find 


Through  Night  to  Light.  549 

not  to  be  contemptible  any  more — Oswald  !  it  would  be 
such  a  good  fortune  as  I  had  never  expected.  And 
then,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  another  piece  of 
good  fortune  has  befallen  me  to-day.  I  have  met  again 
my  oldest  enemy,  whom  I  hated  most  bitterly,  and  my 
youngest  and  most  beloved  friend." 

He  pressed  Oswald's  hand,  who  said,  smiling: 

"  Found  your  oldest  enemy  .?  was  that  fortunate .''  " 

Berger  told  Oswald  in  a  few  words  of  his  meeting 
with  Count  Malikowsky  that  morning,  and  that  Schmenc- 
kel,  who  had  helped  them  gloriously  in  building  up 
the  barricade,  was  Prince  Waldenberg's  father.  "  The 
low-born  man  the  father  of  a  prince,  the  prince  the  son 
of  a  low-born  man — that  would  make  a  nice  novel,"  he 
said  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  Perhaps  1  can  give  you  a  companion-story  to  yours," 
answered  Oswald;  and  he  informed  Berger  of  tlie  discov- 
eries he  had  made  that  day  with  regard  to  his  own  birth. 

"  That  is  strange!"  said  Berger;  "  ver)- strange  !  And 
did  you  not  tell  me  you  loved  Helen .?  " 

"  More  than  my  life  !" 

"  And  you  refused  all  that  splendor  to  remain  faithful 
to  your  old  flag.-*  " 

Oswald  shook  his  head. 

"No,  Berger!"  he  said;  "I  am  not  good  and  great 
enough  for  that,  as  you  think  in  your  goodness  and 
greatness.  She  could  never  be  mirje.  Too  many  things 
had  happened  that  could  never  be  forgiven  and  forgot- 
ten. I  had  preferred  others  to  her,  and  she  had  preferred 
another  man  to  me.  That  Prince  Waldenberg  was  her 
betrothed." 

"  Why  do  you  say  was  .?" 
f    "  Because  I  found  them  leaving  town.     She  had  recol- 
lected at  the  last  moment  that  she  had  a  heart  in  her 
bosom  whose  longing  not  all  the  riches  of  the  world 
could  satisfy." 

"  Strange  !  strange  !"  murmured  Berger.  "  You,  both 
of  you:  the  baron's  son  who  makes  common  cause  with 
the  people,  and  the  low-born  man's  son  who  sits  among 
princes,  are  rivals  for  the  favor  of  the  same  lady !  And 
she  rejects  you  because  she  has  no  suspicion  of  your 


550  Through  Night  to  Light. 

noble  birth,  and  she  accepts  the  prince  because  she 
thinks  that  the  same  blood  flows  in  his  veins,  of  which 
he  is  so  proud  !  What  a  pity  the  world  does  not  know 
this  and  must  not  know  it!  They  might  possibly  find 
out  then  what  the  difference  is  between  noble  blood  and 
common  blood  !" 

"  You,  at  all  events,  do  not  seem  to  value  the  differ- 
ence quite  as  much  as  formerly.  I  can  remember  the 
time  when  you  thought  it  morally  impossible  to  be 
the  friend  of  a  nobleman." 

"You  allude  to  my  friendship  Avith  Oldenburg,"  said 
Berger,  calmly.  "  I  tell  you,  Oswald,  if  there  ever  was  a 
man  who  deserved  to  be  loved  and  honored,  Oldenburg 
is  that  man.  If  any  man  could  ever  have  reconciled  me 
with  the  world,  Oldenburg  would  have  been  that  man. 
If  I  ever  could  humble  myself  before  any  man  and  ac- 
knowledge him  to  be  my  lord  and  master,  that  man  is 
Oldenburg.  I  know  you  hate  him  because  the  woman 
whom  you  have  forsaken  thinks  more  of  him  than  of  the 
whole  world.  That  is  not  fair,  Oswald.  Oldenburg 
has  also  spoken  of  you  like  a  friend.  I  should  be  very 
happy,  Oswald,  if  you  coidd  be  reconciled  with  each 
other  before  I  leave  you  forever." 

"  My  turn  comes  first !  "  said  Oswald.  "  Do  you  know 
what  you  once  told  me  in  Grunwald }  '  You  will  die  be- 
fore me,'  you  said,  'for  the  Big  Serpent  is  tough  of  life, 
and  you  are  too  soft,  far  too  gentle  for  this  hard  world.'  " 

"That  was  long  ago.  This  last  year  has  made  the  Big 
Serpent  dull  and  feeble.     But  what  is  that.?  " 

A  noise,  coming  from  a  low  restaurant  with  steps 
leading  up  from  the  basement,  made  both  men  jump  up 
from  their  seats.  They  seized  their  arms  and  hurried, 
followed  by  other  men  of  the  same  barricade,  to  the 
place,  where  now  several  shots  were  fired.  These  were 
the  same  shots  which  Oldenburg  had  heard  when  he  was 
roused  from  his  effort  to  seek  rest  on  his  barricade  in 
Broad  street. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  551 


CHAPTER     XVII 


ALBERT  TIMM  had  stopped,  after  his  violent  al- 
tercation with  Oswald,  looking  after  his  faithless 
friend  and  laughing  so  loud  and  so  bitterly  that 
the  passers-by  had  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Then  he 
had  hurried  away  in  another  direction,  murmuring  vio- 
lent words,  gnashing  his  teeth,  and  shaking  his  hands  at 
imaginary  enemies.  Albert  Timm  was  savage,  and  from 
his  point  of  view  he  had  reason  to  be  furious.  He  was 
in  a  desperate  position.  The  debts  he  had  left  behind 
him  in  Grunwald  and  elsewhere  were  not  particularly 
pressing — he  was  great  in  bearing  such  burdens  ! — but 
the  small  sum  he  had  brought  with  him  to  town  was  at 
an  end  ;  and  even  if  that  could  be  borne,  all  his  bright 
prospects  for  a  brilliant  future  had  been  suddenly  blown 
to  the  winds  and  burst  like  a  many-colored  soap  bubble. 
Cursing  the  world  and  himself,  he  had  thus  Avalked 
through  several  streets  before  he  reached  that  part  of 
town  where  the  rising  was  general.  He  delighted  in  it 
not  because  he  had  any  sympathy  with  the  cause  of  the 
people  or  liberty,  but  because  he  felt  instinctively  that 
in  such  times,  where  all  is  turned  upside  down,  he — the 
man  without  a  home,  the  adventurer — could  lose  nothing, 
and  possibly  gain  much.  This  tliought  restored  to  him 
his  full  elasticity.  He  hurrahed  merrily  with  the  crowd, 
he  chimed  in  with  the  cry  :  To  arms  !  to  arms  !  and  had 
real  pleasure  in  finding  the  excitement  growing  apace 
as  he  came  nearer  the  place  of  his  destination,  the  Dis- 
mal Hole.  Thus  he  reached  Broad  street  just  at  the 
moment  when  Oswald  and  Berger  approached  it  from 
the  other  side.  He  noticed  both,  also  Mr.  Schmenckel, 
who  had  come  by  appointment  to  have  an  interview  with 
Berger.  By  no  means  desirous  to  be  seen  by  his  ene- 
mies he  slipped  aside,  and  was  about  to  creep  into  Ger- 
trude street  when  some  one  seized  hold  of  his  coat. 
When  he  looked  around  he  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  his  friend  and  patron,  Jeremy  Goodheart. 

"  Well,  how  did  matters  go .'' "   asked  the   detectire, 


552  Through  Night  to  Light. 

who  had  in  the  meantime  become  Timm's  friend,  and 
was  fully  initiated  in  his  intrigues. 

"All  up!"  sighed  Timm,  angrily.  "Lost  my  labor 
and  my  trouble  !  All  up  !  I  could  roast  the  two  ras- 
cals !  "     He  pointed  at  Oswald  and  Schmenckel. 

"  Hem,  hem  !  "  said  the  policeman.  "  You  must  tell  me 
that  at  leisure.  Come  to  Rose ;  but  let  us  first  hear  what 
the  mad  professor  has  to  say." 

"  Do  you  know  him.?  "  asked  Timm. 

"Hush!  We  know  him.  Deceived  people  ! — all  right! 
To  arms! — excellent!  Just  wait! — we'll  catch  you! 
And  there  comes  the  tall  baron,  who  makes  such  revolu- 
tionary speeches  at  the  election  meetings  !  Why,  there 
is  the  whole  nest  of  them  ! — build  barricades  ! — hurrah  ! 
Bravo  ! — hurrah !  All  men  to  the  barricades  !  Hurrah !  " 
cried  the  detective,  and  waved  his  hat  with  admirably- 
feigned  enthusiasm.  Then  he  seized  Timm  by  the  arm 
and  said :  ■"  Now  we  must  get  away  quickly  or  the  fel- 
lows will  shut  us  up  here  with  their  barricade." 

The  two  companions  crept  down  Gertrude  street  and 
disappeared  in  the  Dismal  Hole. 

Mrs.  Rose  Pape  received  them  with  unusual  cordiality. 

"  Well,  darlings,  do  you  come  with  full  purses  .?  Have 
you  got  it,  eh .?  " 

"Hush!  "  said  the  detective,  "and  bring  us  beer;  we 
can't  stop." 

"Without  telling  me  how  the 1  "  said  the  worthy 

matron  indignantly,  and  made  with  her  thumb  and  her 
forefinger  the  motion  of  counting  money. 

Mr.  Timm  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  reply,  and  pulled 
out  the  empty  pockets  of  his  trousers. 

Mrs.  Pape  was  of  choleric  nature,  and  the  failure  of 
such  magnificent  expectations  filled  her  with  just  in- 
dignation, to  which  she  gave  vent  in  a  flood  of  oaths  and 
vile  invectives,  some  of  which  were  aimed  at  the  detec- 
tive. "  But  I  will  pay  Schmenckel,  with  his  big  paunch," 
she  said.  "  Let  him  come  here  again  and  liave  no  money 
to  pay  for  his  beer ;  I'll  show  him  home,  the  old  rascal !  " 

At  that  moment  the  firing  was  heard  as  the  troops 
charged  the  barricade  in  Broad  street;  and  almost  im- 
mediately afterwards  a  great  noise  was   heard  at  the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  553 

windows.  They  began  building  tlie  barricade  which 
was  to  close  up  Gertrude  strpet.  The  detective  and 
Timm,  who  looked  stealthily  out  at  the  window,  saw 
Oswald,  Berger,  Schmenckel,  and  other  men,  hard  at 
work.  They  withdrew,  following  their  landlady  to  the 
remoter  depths  of  the  basement. 

"  That  is  a  charming  trap,"  said  the  detective.  "  We 
are  hemmed  in  on  all  sides,  and  if  they  find  us  here  the 
rascals  will  kill  us." 

"  It  is  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  said  the  woman.  "  I 
can  get  you  out  safely.     Come  along." 

She  led  the  two  men  through  the  last  room  and  a 
hidden  door  down  a  few  steps  into  a  deep  cellar,  which 
Avas  used  as  a  store-room.  On  the  wall  a  thin  little 
gas-flame  was  burning.     The  woman  screwed  it  up. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "you  go  through  that  door  !  " — she 
pointed  out  an  iron  door  on  the  opposite  side ;  "  then 
you  get  into  a  narrow  court-yard ;  keep  to  the  left,  and 
thus  you  can  get  through  my  brewer's  house  into 
Brother  street.     Good-by  !  " 

"  Is  it  always  open  }  "  asked  Timm,  when  he  found 
the  iron  door  was  not  locked. 

"Only  to-day,"  replied  Rose;  "we  expect  more  beer 
that  way.     The  fellows  are  like  sponges  to-day." 

When  the  two  gentlemen  had  safely  passed  through 
the  door,  the  little  court-yard,  and  the  brewery,  into  the 
space  above  the  barricade  in  Brother  street,  they  stopped 
and  looked  at  each  other.  The  same  thought  was  upper- 
most in  the  mind  of  both. 

"  What  a  mouse-trap  this  would  be !  "  said  Timm. 

"  If  you  will  lend  a  hand,"  said  the  detective,  "  you 
can  make  sure  of  the  president.  We  want  people  like 
you.  I  have  already  spoken  about  you  to  the  old 
man." 

"And  that  would  avenge  us,  too,  on  the  rascals." 

"  The  thing  is  not  free  from  danger,  though,"  said  the 
policeman. 

"  Faint  heart  never  won   fair  lady,"  said  Timm.     "  I 
confess  I  like  the  idea  of  catching  my  good  friends  in 
this  funny  way.     If  you  do  not  choose  to  undertake  it 
I'll  do  it  alone." 
24 


554  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Well,  then,  come  !  "  said  the  detective.  "  We'll  see 
if  the  military  are  disposed  to  look  at  it  as  we  do." 

And  the  two  men  advanced  boldly  upon  the  colonel, 

who  was  waiting  on  horseback  at  some  little  distance 

surrounded  by  his  officers,  and  furious  at  the  obstinate 

resistance  of  the   two  barricades  in  Broad   street   and 

Gertrude  street,  which  he  had  been  ordered  to  take  by 

storm. 

****** 

When  Mrs.  Rose  had  helped  her  friends  out  and 
returned  to  the  public  rooms  she  found  there  Mr. 
Schmenckel,  with  ten  or  twelve  other  men  from  the  bar- 
ricades, who  wished  to  refresh  themselves  after  their 
fatigue.  They  were  mostly  old  customers  of  the  locality, 
the  same  men  with  long  beards  and  dishevelled  locks 
who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting  here  to  condemn 
the  "  rotten  condition  of  the  state,"  the  "  hateful  police," 
and  the  "brutalized  soldiery."  Mr.  Schmenckel  had 
always  been  highly  respected  by  these  people,  and  now, 
when  they  had  seen  that  he  could  not  only  speak  boldly 
but  also  act  courageously,  he  became  the  hero  of  the  day. 

Under  these  circumstances  Mrs.  Rose  deemed  it  more 
prudent  not  to  carry  out  her  resolution,  and  to  leave 
the  waiting  upon  the  barricade  men  to  pretty  Lisbeth 
while  she  herself  took  her  accustomed  seat  at  the  bar. 

Pretty  Lisbeth  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Schmenckel, 
whose  gallantry  was  universal.  She  had  overheard 
part  of  the  conversation  between  her  mistress,  Timm, 
and  Goodheart,  and  their  leaving  through  the  back-door 
had  roused  her  suspicions.  She  thought  she  ought  to 
tell  her  admirer  what  she  had  seen,  especially  as  she 
liked  to  show  him  what  a  false  pussy-cat  Mrs.  Rose  was 
• — a  fact  of  which  she  had  often  tried  to  convince  him  in 
vain.  Schmenckel  at  once  appreciated  the  importance 
of  her  communications.  If  there  was  a  door  in  the 
basement  which  led  into  Brother  street,  and  if  Timm  and 
Goodheart,  whom  Schmenckel  by  no  means  trusted, 
knew  this  door,  then  it  was  most  assuredly  very  expe- 
dient to  see  if  that  door  was  carefully  locked. 

Schmenckel  let  Lisbeth  go,  and  told  the  men  at  his 
table  what  he  had  heard.     They  all  were  of  opinion  that 


Through  Night  to  Light.  555 

a  reconroissance  ought  to  be  made  at  once.  But  at  the 
very  moment  when  the  men  took  up  their  arms  and 
turned  to  the  door  which  led  into  the  store-room  in 
question,  the  door  was  opened  from  the  otlier  side  and 
a  troop  of  soldiers  rushed  in,  Albert  Timm  and  the 
detective  in  their  midst. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  the  shining  helmets  and 
guns,  and  the  firing  which  began  instantly,  though  for- 
tunately quite  at  random,  filled  some  of  the  barricade 
men  with  such  terror  that  they  rushed  helter  skelter 
up  the  steps  and  fled  into  the  sft-eet.  Here  they  were 
met  by  Oswald^nd  Berger,  who  had  been  attracted  by 
the  firing,  and  now  came  to  Schmenckel's  assistance, 
who  had  until  now  alone  contended  with  the  soldiers. 

Schmenckel  had  seized  one  of  the  guns  which  had 
just  been  fruitlessly  discharged,  and  attacked  the  inva- 
ders, first  with  the  butt  end,  and  when  this  was  broken 
with  the  iron  barrel,  so  powerfully  that  two  or  three 
were  lying  disabled  on  the  floor,  and  the  others  were  re- 
tiring panic-struck  through  the  back  door.  There, 
however,  they  met  their  advancing  comrades,  and  this 
caused  a  fearful  confusion,  especially  as  Oswald,  Berger, 
Schmenckel,  and  the  other  men,  wdio  had  recovered  from 
their  surprise,  now  also  pressed  down  into  the  half- 
lighted  rooms  and  engaged  in  a  terrible  conflict. 

The  attacking  party  was  perhaps  half  as  strong  again 
as  their  enemies,  and  better  armed  ;  but  these  advantages 
were  offset  by  Berger's  and  Oswald's  impetuous  valor, 
and  the  gigantic  strength  of  Schm.enckel.  The  power- 
ful man  wielded  his  terrible  weapon  indefatigably,  and 
not  a  blow  fell  in  vain  upon  the-  heads  of  the  unfortu- 
nate soldiers.  Thus  he  cut  his  way  to  the  door  which 
led  into  tlie  court-yard,  at  which  he  met  several  escap- 
ing soldiers,  while  others  were  eagerly  crowding  after 
them.  And  now  he  had  attained  his  end.  Seizing  with 
his  irresistible  arms  a  few  of  the  men  hemmed  in  be- 
tween the  door  and  the  door-frame,  and  pulling  them 
down  into  the  store-room,  he  closed  the  heavy  iron 
door,  pushed  the  strong  iron  bar  across,  leaned  his 
broad  back  against  it,  and  cried,  whirling  his  gun-barrel 
in  a  circle  around  him, 


556  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  Now  we  have  gotten  our  sheep  together,  professor ! 
No  one  can  get  out  or  in  any  more.  Caspar  Schmenc- 
kel  will  see  to  that." 

The  horror  had  reached  its  crisis.  In  the  narrow 
badly-lighted  room,  under-ground  and  reeking  with 
mould  and  blood,  men  fought  like  wild  beasts.  The 
soldiers  defended  themselves  desperately ;  but  as  their 
friends  could  only  thunder  at  the  inner  door  Avithout 
coming  to  their  assistance,  the  result  was  not  long 
doubtful.  The  butchery,  however,  might  have  contin- 
ued for  some  time  if  Oldenburg  had  not  come  down 
with  part  of  his  men  from  the  barricade.*  He  threatened 
to  shoot  down  instantly  every  man  who  should  not  at  once 
lay  down  his  arms.  The  soldiers,  deprived  of  all  hope  of 
succor,  surrendered,  and  entered  one  by  one  from  the 
lower  room  into  the  drinking  saloon,  where  they  were 
disarmed.  The  poor  fellows  presented  a  piteous  sight. 
There  was  not  one  of  them  who  was  not  seriously 
wounded.  Their  bright  uniforms  in  rags,  out  of  breath, 
pale  with  fright  and  exhaustion,  stained  with  blood  and 
dust  and  dirt — thus  they  stood  there  surrounded  by  the 
barricade  men,  who  likewise  bore  the  marks  of  a  severe 
conflict.  But  the  low  cellar  contained  greater  horrors 
than  these.  When  lights  were  brought  two  bodies  were 
seen  lying  lifeless  in  their  blood,  a  soldier  and  a  civilian. 
The  soldier  had  in  his  wild  flight  thrown  himself  upon 
his  own  bayonet,  which  pierced  him  through  and 
through,  and  no  doubt  had  killed  him  instantly.  The 
civilian  had  received  a  terrible  cut  across  the  head.  He 
was  still  groaning  as  they  carried  him  up  stairs,  but  he 
also  died  in  a  few  minutes.  At  first  they  thought  it  was 
one  of  the  barricade  men,  but  no  one  knew  him.  Os- 
wald also  approached  the  table  on  which  he  had  been 
laid,  and  after  having  examined  the  distorted  counte- 
nance for  a  moment,  he  saw  to  his  indescribable  horror 
that  tlae  stiff  bleeding  corpse  was  all  that  remained  of 
the  merry  Andrew,  the  inexhaustible  clown  and  punster, 
his  good  companion  of  so  many  a  wild  night,  the  same 
man  from  whom  he  had  parted  in  anger  and  hatred  a 
few  hours  afro — Albert  Timm. 


Through  Night  to  Light.  557 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 

DURING  the  next  hour  a  pause  occurred  in  the 
fight  near  the  barricade  in  Broad  street.  The 
regiment  of  the  line,  which  had  charged  it  five 
times  in  vain,  had  been  reinforced  by  several  battalions 
of  the  Guards  who  had  been  fighting  in  King  street, 
and  successfully  taken  several  barricades.  These  troops 
followed  different  tactics;  they  did  not  advance  in  close 
columns,  but  in  small  detachments  on  both  sides  of  the 
street,  as  mucli  as  possible  under  cover,  and  keeping 
apart  till  they  could  form  once  more  close  before  the 
barricade.  But  if  their  losses  were  smaller,  their  suc- 
cess was  by  no  means  greater.  The  besieged  systemati- 
cally saved  their  fire  till  the  last  moment,  and  then 
fired  so  coolly  at  the  right  moment,  that  the  position 
seemed  to  be  simply  impregnable.  In  fact  the  firing  on 
the  part  of  the  troops  had  ceased  for  some  time,  and  the 
men  behind  the  barricade  could  rest  awhile. 

They  needed  it  sadly.  Mostly  entirely  exhausted, 
blackened  with  powder,  all  more  or  less  dangerously 
wounded,  they  sat  and  lay  about  in  small  groups, 
strangely  lighted  up  by  the  red  light  of  the  watch-fires 
that  had  been  kindled  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  by  the 
white  glare  of  the  candles  in  the  windows,  and  the  pale 
rays  of  the  full  moon,  which  was  still  gliding  gently 
and  silently  through  the  blue  ether  above.  Amid  the 
groups  of  fighting  men,  women  and  girls  were  seen 
bringing  provisions  from  the  neighboring  houses.  There 
was  no  lack  of  beer,  and  wine  even,  and  it  looked  as  if 
here  and  there  too  much  had  been  distributed.  At  least 
every  now  and  then  sudden  shouts  and  yells  were 
heard  from  one  or  the  other  group,  after  which  the 
deep  silence  became  all  the  more  oppressive.  Upon  a 
cask  which  formed  part  of  the  barricade  sat  Oldenburg  ; 
his  long  legs  were  hanging  down,  and  he  blew  thick 
clouds  of  smoke  from  his  cigar.  His  air  was  that  of  a 
man  who  has  assumed  a  serious  responsibility  and  is  de- 
termined to  carry  out  what  he  has  undertaken.  He  did 
not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  the  barricade  would  be 


558  Through  Night  to  Light. 

taken,  and  that  he  would  fall  at  the  head  of  his  men  ;  but 
this  was  the  last  thing;  he  thought  of.  To  die  in  a  good 
cause  had  no  terrors  for  him.  Oldenburg  actually  fan- 
cied he  felt  a  faint  desire  for  death  in  his  heart.  Had 
he  not  seen  how  the  sweet  hope  of  at  last  calling  Me- 
litta  his  own  had  been  recently  put  off  once  more,  and 
further  than  ever.'  He  could  not  blame  her  that  the 
memory  of  her  fondness  for  Oswald  Avas  weighing  her 
down  like  an  Alp,  and  made  it  impossible  to  her  to 
raise  her  eyes  boldly  to  a  better  and  more  faithful  man; 
but  the  very  fact  that  he  could  not  but  honor  her  for  the 
feeling  Avhich  parted  them  made  him  so  very  hopeless 
and  helpless.  He  had  often  and  often  repeated  to  him- 
self the  word  that  Melitta  spoke  so  touchingly  when- 
ever she  saw  him  sorrowful:  Patience!  But  in  vain  ! 
He  was  consumed  by  impatience,  by  his  inability  to  do 
anything  else  for  his  happiness  than  to  fold  his  hands 
in  his  lap  and  to  Avait  with  trusting  heart  for  something 
vague  and  uncertain. 

Just  then  the  revolution  had  broken  out  and  Olden- 
burg breathed  more  freely,  as  thousands  Avith  him. 
Everyone  had  borne  some  intolerable  burden,  which  he 
now  hoped  to  shake  off.  Oldenburg  Avas  glad  that  JNIe- 
litta  Avas  not  present.  He  had  at  the  \'ery  beginning 
sent  her  Avord  through  old  Baumann  to  stay  at  her  safe 
place  of  refuge.  When  he  sent  the  old  man  to  her  he 
thought  in  his  heart :  We  meet  again  happier  or  never 
more!  He  noAV  only  Avished  for  Oswald  to  fight  by  his 
side  for  liberty  and  for  Melitta.  The  issue  might  then  be 
an  ordeal,  and  Melitta  croAvn  the  victorious  survivor. 

And  his  Avish  Avas  fulfilled.  For  an  hour  Oswald  had 
been  fighting  by  his  side  like  a  man  Avho  prefers  death 
to  life.  Wherever  a  defective  part  of  the  barricade  had 
to  be  repaired  under  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  wherever 
danger  Avas  most  threatening,  there  Oswald  Avas  sure  to 
be  ;  and  as  Oldenburg  also  chose  the  most  exposed  po- 
sitions, the  tAvo  men  Avere  constantly  side  by  side.  But 
as  soon  as  the  danger  Avas  over  Oswald  withdrew,  and 
Oldenburg  did  not  follow  him  as  his  Avithdrawing  Avas 
evidently  intentional.  And  yet  the  noble  man  Avas 
anxious,  noAV  that  every  hour  miglit  be  their  last,  to  tell 


Through  Night  to  Light.  559 

his  former  friend  that  they  ought  to  forget  the  past  and 
join  the  hands  that  were  on  botli  sides  engaged  in  a 
great  and  holy  cause. 

Oldenburg's  eyes  followed  Oswald,  as  he  went  to  his 
post,  at  some  little  distance  from  him,  and  stood  there, 
rifle  in  hand,  near  Berger,  by  the  watch-fire.  In  the 
changeful  light  their  forms  now  stood  forth  brightly, 
and  now  were  lost  in  the  dark  shade.  This  lent  them  some- 
thing strange,  almost  supernatural.  Oldenburg  could 
not  help  thinking  of  the  spirits  who  beckon  to  the  ferry- 
man on  the  banks  of  the  Acheron. 

He  rose  and  went  up  to  them. 

"What  do  you  think,  gentlemen,"  he  said;  "are  we 
going-  to  be  left  alone  long  .-*  " 

"I  believe,"  said  Oswald,  "they  are  either  short  of 
ammunition  or  they  have  sent  for  reinforcements." 

"  I  think  that  is  more  likely.  What  do  you  think, 
Berger.'*  " 

Berger  had  been  standing  there,  his  arms  crossed,  and 
his  large  eyes  fixed  immoveably  upon  the  flames.  Sud- 
den-ly  he  stretched  out  his  hands  and  said,  in  a  hollow, 
spectre-like  tone  of  voice, 

"  Listen  !  They  are  coming  !  The  earth  trembles 
beneath  them  !  How  they  whip  their  horses,  who  are 
tired  dragging  more  and  more  weapons  against  the 
people !  Now  they  alight !  And  now  they  cram  the 
iron  mouths  full  to  bursting.     We  will " 

"  Berger!  "  said  Oldenburg,  placing  his  hand  on  his 
arm. 

Berger  started  like  one  who  is  suddenly  roused  from 
a  heavy  dream.     He  looked  around  in  confusion. 

"  What  is  it.''  "  he  asked,  staring  at  Oldenburg. 

"  You  are  exhausted  by  excessive  efforts,  Berger. 
Lie  down  for  an  hour.  I  will  have  you  called  when  you 
are  needed." 

"  Exhausted .''  "  said  Berger,  relapsing  into  his  dreamy 
state.  "  Yes ;  exhausted  unto  death.  But  that  is  why 
an  hour  is  not  enough  ;  when  I  go  to  sleep,  it  must  be 
an  eternal  sleep." 

At  that  moment  Schmenckel  stepped  up,  who  had 
been  on  guard  upon  the  barricade,  and  said, 


560  Through  Night  to  Light. 

"  There  is  something  very  peculiar  going  on.  I  be- 
lieve they  are  going  to  give  us  artillery  now." 

Berger  started  up. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you.?  "  he  cried.  "  The  decisive  hour 
has  come.  Up!  up!  you  brave  men;  all  of  you  !  One 
more  merry  dance  with  the  weird  fairies  of  life,  and 
then  to  unbroken  rest  in  the  cool  night  of  death.  Up  ! 
up  !  " 

At  this  call  some  of  the  men  rose  from  their  resting- 
places  near  the  fire,  seized  their  arms,  and  hastened  with 
Berger  to  their  posts.  Others  remained  where  they 
were  and  laughed  at  the  false  alarm.  But  they  also 
were  quickly  enough  upon  their  feet  when  an  explosion 
came  which  shook  the  houses  to  their  foundations,  and 
grape  and  canister  came  rattling  against  the  barricade 
and  the  faces  of  the  houses. 

"Now  they  are  in  earnest,"  said  Oldenburg,  turning 
to  Oswald.  But  the  place  where  Oswald  had  been 
standing  was  empty. 

"  He  avoids  me,"  said  Oldenburg,  sadly,  "and  yet  my 
conscience  is  quiet.  I  have  no  reproach  to  make  to  my- 
self as  far  as  he  is  concerned." 

He  hastened  to  the  barricade,  where  the  captain's 
presence  was  more  needed  than  ever. 

The  first  gun,  which  had  opened  the  dance,  "was  now 
joined  by  three  more,  and  the  thunder  came  almost  un- 
interruptedly, and  with  it  the  iron  hail.  There  was  no 
doubt  they  wanted  to  make  a  break  in  the  barricade, 
and  then  charge  once  more  with  better  result.  Olden- 
burg, not  wishing  to  expose  the  lives  of  his  men  unne- 
cessarily, had  given  orders  that  they  should  keep  as 
much  as  possible  under  cover,  and  not  return  the  fire 
of  the  enemy,  but  save  every  shot  for  the  moment  of 
the  charge  itself  He  had  also  doubled  the  number  of 
men  with  stones  on  the  house-tops.  Finally  he  chose 
from  among  the  men  who  had  shown  most  bravery  a 
select  corps,  which  was  to  fall  upon  the  attacking  party 
and  engage  them  till  the  others  should  have  had  time 
to  seek  shelter  behind  the  barricades  in  the  adjoining 
streets. 

Oldenburg  had  just    given  his  directions  when   the 


Through  Night  to  Light.  561 

battery  opened  a  most  terrific  fire  and  then  suddenly 
became  silent. 

One  moment  all  was  perfectly  still. 

Perfectly  still,  and  then  the  iron  clang  of  twenty 
drums  beating  the  charge.  And  with  every  beat  the 
column  drew  nearer,  a  living  wall,  apparently  irresistible 
in  its  approach. 

Not  a  sound  on  the  barricade.  Up  on  the  roofs 
stand  men  and  boys,  with  heavy  stones  in  their  hands ; 
in  the  windows  of  the  houses,  and  near  the  openings  in 
the  barricade,  the  marksmen  are  watching,  with  their 
rifles  close  to  the  eye. 

And  the  drums  beat  and  the  living  wall  comes  nearer. 
Already  one  can  distinguish  the  handsome  uniform  of 
the  Guards  ;  one  can  see  the  beardless  faces  of  the  men, 
and  the  black-bearded  countenance  of  the  gigantic  offi- 
cer who  leads  the  attack.  And  now  the  officer  gives  a 
command,  drowned  in  the  beating  of  the  drums ;  and  as 
he  waves  his  bright  sword  the  men  cheer,  and  with 
three  hurrahs  they  rush  forward.  But  before  they 
reach  the  barricade  twenty  rifles  are  discharged,  and 
hundreds  of  stones  are  hurled  down  from  above  upon 
the  living  wall,  and  it  wavers  and  trembles  like  a  huge 
wave  in  the  ocean  which  dashes  its  foam-crested  waters 
against  a  rocky  coast. 

Nevertheless  it  rolls  on,  and  now  it  breaks  against 
the  barricade.  The  officer  pulls  out  huge  pieces.  No- 
thing, it  seems,  can  resist  his  gigantic  strength.  But 
suddenly  a  man  in  a  worn-out  velvet  coat,  who  wields 
as  his  only  weapon  a  rifle-barrel  without  the  stock, 
leaps  down  and  faces  the  officer.  When  the  officer  sees 
the  man  he  starts  back  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  and 
roars  to  his  men  :  "  Halt!     Halt!  " 

They  halt. 

The  men  of  the  barricade  avail  themselves  of  this 
pause  and  fire  once  more.  The  officer  falls  dead,  face 
foremost;  with  him  half  a  dozen  men  fall,  more  or  less 
dangerously  wounded.  A  panic  seizes  the  troops. 
The  officers  try  in  vain  to  lead  them  to  the  attack. 

The  barricade  is  safe  once  more  ;  they  cheer  again 
and  again  ;  they  embrace  each  other  with  tears  of  joy 


562  Through  Night  to  Light. 

in  their  eyes.  But  they  have  paid  dearly  for  their  vic- 
tory. While  part  of  the  men  repair  the  barricade, 
which  is  half  destroyed,  another  part  is  busy  with  the 
dead  and  wounded.  The  man  in  the  velvet  coat 
brings  up  the  corpse  of  a  man,  who  has  fought  like  a 
hero  in  the  front  rank,  and  who  has  fallen  by  his  side, 
pierced  with  the  enemy's  bayonets. 

Oldenburg  comes  up  to  help  them. 

"  Is  he  dead  .-'" 

"Yes." 

They  place  him  on  the  ground  near  one  of  the  fires. 
The  pale  face  is  so  quiet,  so  peaceful,  and  a  gentle,  happy 
smile  plays  about  the  pale  lips. 

Oldenburg  looks  over  to  Oswald,  who  is  kneeling  on 
the  other  side  of  the  body.  He  is  startled.  The  young 
man's  countenance  is  as  pale  as  that  of  the  dead  man, 
and  his  eyes  glare  like  those  of  a  madman. 

"  Great  God,  Oswald  !  are  you  wounded  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am,"  replies  Oswald,  and  sinks  down 
by  the  side  of  Berger's  body. 


CHAPTER     XIX. 

THE  sun  has  risen  twice  since  the  night  of  the  bar- 
ricades. A  wondrously  beautiful  spring  clay  is 
shining  upon  the  immense  city.  The  splendid 
palaces  show  their  noble  outlines  clearly  against  the 
bright  sky,  while  their  mighty  columns  and  richly- 
adorned  friezes  are  bathed  in  the  golden  morning  sun. 
And  so  there  are  bathing  in  the  same  golden  morning 
sun  thousands  and  thousands  of  happy  men  who  wan- 
der in  endless  crowds  through  the  city.  All  the  pil- 
grims feel  like  pious  pilgrims  who  have  long  painfully 
wandered  through  desert  wastes  and  over  rough  moun- 
tains to  the  sacred  image  of  Our  Lady,  and  at  last  they 
behold  the  Holy  One,  and  she  smiles  upon  them  for- 
giveness of  their  sins,  and   peace  and  joy  and  hearty 


Through  Night  to  Light.  563 

confidence.  Now  they  go  back  to  their  homes,  silent 
and  full  of  emotion,  or  loud  in  pious  songs,  praising  the 
Holy  One  who  has  done  wondrously  for  them.  .  .  . 

"  Poor,  gullible  people !  As  if  all  the  saints  of  the 
almanac  could  help  you  if  you  do  not  help  yourself — 
as  if  the  sins  of  a  generation  could  be  atoned  for  in  a 
single  night — as  if  a  diseased  state  could  be  cured  in  a 
day !  You  are  willing  to  forget  and  to  forgive  those 
who  have  never,  never  forgiven  you  anything,  and  who 
will  never  forget  that  you  have  sinned  against  them  as 
they  look  upon  it.  Your  houses  still  show  the  traces 
of  the  fratricidal  struggle.  Your  roofs,  from  which  in 
your  despair  you  hurled  stones  upon  the  heads  of  your 
enemies,  are  still  uncovered.  The  pavements  which  you 
tore  up  to  form  a  wall  against  reckless  tyranny,  have 
not  yet  been  replaced.  The  dead  even,  who  shed  their 
blood  for  you,  have  not  yet  been  buried.  The  wounded 
— the  mortally  wounded,  are  still  waiting  on  their  sorrow- 
ful couch  for  the  hour  of  release " 

It  was  Oldenburg  who  spoke  these  Avords  to  himself 
as  he  stood  in  one  of  the  windows  of  the  hotel,  and 
looked  down  upon  the  people  who  now  merrily  swarmed 
over  the  place  where  two  days  ago  a  huge  barricade 
had  been  erected  ;  where  men  had  fought  with  bitter 
hatred  and  gallant  bravery ;  where  many  a  noble  patriot 
had  breathed  his  last. 

Two  of  these  victims  were  in  the  hotel." 

•Below,,  a  few  feet  only  above  the  pavement  on  which 
joyous  crowds  were  thronging,  a  pale  man  was  lying 
in  his  coffin,  from  whose  face  a  gray  beard  was  flowing 
in  ample  locks  over  a  deep  wound,  from  which  night 
before  last  his  heart's  blood  has  escaped. 

And  in  the  same  room,  on  his  bed  of  sorrow,  lay  a 
young  man  who  had  been  mortally  wounded  by  the  side 
of  the  gray-haired  enthusiast,  and  whose  powerful, 
youthful  strength  had  so  far  struggled  fearfully  with 
pitiless  death,  causing  him  unspeakable  suffering. 

After  the  charge  in  which  Berger  fell  and  Oswald  re- 
ceived his  fatal  wound,  the  troops  had  not  renewed  the- 
attack  ;  partly  because  the  position  was  really  held  to  be 
impregnable,  partly  because  hesitation  prevailed  among 


564  Through  Night  to  Light. 

the  ruling  spirits,  and  partly  because  the  death  of  Prince 
Waldenberg,  who  had  led  the  last  charge  with  almost 
rapturous  bravery  and  had  fallen  in  the  attack,  had  dis- 
heartened the  men,  so  that  the  leaders  dreaded  a  second 
failure.  They  had  contented  themselves  with  an  occa- 
sional fire  at  the  barricade;  and  at  last,  towards  five 
o'clock,  the  last  shot  had  been  fired, 

Oldenburg  had  stood  by  his  post  till  he  was  certain 
that  no  new  attack  was  to  be  expected,  and  that  the 
troops  had  received  orders  to  retreat.  Only  then  he  had 
called  Schmenckel,  who  had  stood  by  him  like  a  true 
squire  through  the  whole  fight,  and  they  had  left  the 
partially  abandoned  barricade  the  last  of  them  all. 

Schmenckel  had  told  Oldenburg  that  same  night,  with 
big  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  that  the  officer  who  had 
fallen  before  their  eyes,  had  been  his  son.  Oldenburg 
had  been  greatly  surprised  when  he  heard  the  somewhat 
confused  account  which  honest  Caspar  Schmenckel  gave 
of  his  life,  and  especially  the  events  of  the  last  days 
— the  plot  of  poor  Albert  Timm,  whose  body  had  been 
carried  to  the  hospital — of  brave  Jeremy  Goodheart,  who 
had  led  the  surprise  in  the  Dismal  Hole,  and  who  had 
been  the  first  to  escape — the  interviews  between  Count 
Malikowsky  and  the  Princess  Letbus,  and  the  manner  in 
which  Albert  Timm  had  boasted  he  could  transform 
Oswald  Stein  at  any  moment  into  a  Baron  Grenwitz. 

Oldenburg  knew  the  world,  and  especially  the  higher 
regions  mentioned  in  Schmenckel's  story,  too  Avell  to 
doubt  for  a  moment  that  the  events  he  narrated  were 
possible  or  even  plausible. 

Did  Oswald  know  his  own  history  >  But  after  all  that 
was  now  perfectly  immaterial.  Death  was  not  likely  to 
make  anv  difference  between  the  son  of  Baron  Harald 
and  the  son  of  Mr.  Stein,  teacher  of  languages;  and 
Oswald  was  no  longer  his  own,  he  belonged  to  death. 

That  had  been  ascertained  an  hour  after  he  had  been 
wounded.  About  that  time  medical  aid  had  been  pro- 
cured; Doctor  Braun  arrived  in  company  with  Mclitta. 
The  latter  had  still  been  with  Sophie  when  old 
Baumann  brought  the  news  of  the  conflict  and  that 
Oldenbursr  was  in  command  at  the  barricade  in  Broa  ' 


Through  Night  to  Light  565 

street.  Melitta  had  at  once  decided  to  join  Oldenburg, 
and  Sophie  saw  very  well  that  Franz  could  not  stay  at 
home,  when  so  many  thousands  were  risking  their  lives, 
and  therefore  said  nothing  when  he  declared  his  inten- 
tion to  accompany  Melitta.  Old  Baumann  and  Bemper- 
lein,  who  were  also  present,  were  to  stay  with  Sophie  to 
guard  her  and  the  children. 

Melitta  and  Franz  found  much  difficulty  in  making 
their  way,  and  it  was  only  after  several  hours  wander- 
ing, and  often  at  the  peril  of  their  lives,  that  they  reached 
Broad  street. 

To  see  his  beloved  there,  was,  however,  ample  com- 
pensation to  Oldenburg  for  all  he  had  endured.  Me- 
litta embraced  and  kissed  him  amid  tears,  in  Braun's 
presence ;  she  clung  to  his  arm  and  could  not  let  him 
go  again.  She  had  trembled  for  his  life,  and  was  all  joy 
now  to  find  him  again,  blackened  with  powder  but  in 
the  full  glory  of  his  manhood,  till  he  whispered  in  her 
ear  that  Oswald  was  lying,  mortally  wounded,  in  one 
of  the  rooms  of  the  hotel.  Then  Melitta  had  with- 
drawn her  arm  from  his,  and  had  said — pale  and  dis- 
tressed, but  not  overcome — that  she  would  attend  to  the 
poor  man,  as  it  was  'her  duty. 

Since  then  a  day  and  a  night  had  passed — an  eternity 
for  those  who  watched  by  the  bedside  of  the  patient. 
The  wounded  man  suffered  indescribable  agony.  He 
■would  now  rise  madly,  so  that  it  required  all  of  Schmenc- 
kel's  gigantic  strength  to  put  him  back  in  his  bed,  and 
now  describe  volubly  all  the  fearful  images  which 
crowded  his  overwrought  brain.  He  who  in  life  was  so 
reserved,  had  thus  revealed  the  secret  of  his  birth,  a  reve- 
lation which  perfectly  overwhelmed  Mrs.  Black,  and 
made  her  bitterly  regret  her  long-continued  longing  for 
Marie,  which  was  so  sadly  gratified  by  the  sight  of 
Marie's  son — on  his  death-bed.  The  old  lady,  however, 
remitted  none  of  her  tender  cares;  she  was  ever  busy; 
and  if  for  moments  nothing  could  be  done,  she  folded 
her  hands  and  prayed  Heaven  to  save  the  son  of  her 
darling  daughter. 

But  that  had  been  from  the  beginning  a  hopeless 
wish.     Franz   had   immediately   pronounced    Oswald's 


566  Through  Night  to  Light. 

wound  fatal,  and  given  him  one  or  at  best  two  days' 
life.  It  is  possible,  however,  he  added,  that  he  may  re- 
cover his  consciousness  once  more  before  he  dies. 

Melitta  looked  forward  to  that  moment  with  great 
sadness.  She  now  knew  that  she  loved  Oswald  only  as 
an  unfortunate  brother.  Oswald  had  not  once  men- 
tioned her  name  in  all  his  wanderings;  he  had  only 
spoken  of  a  dear,  sweet  woman,  against  whom  he  had 
sinned  grievously,  and  who  could  never  forgive  him  for 
what  he  had  done.  This  recollection  had  each  time 
brought  bitter  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  Melitta  had  wiped 
them  from  his  face  and  wished  she  could  tell  him  that 
she  had  long  since  forgiven  him  all. 

Then  the  wounded  man  had  groaned  so  loud  that  Ol- 
denburg turned  quickly  from  the  window  and  stepped 
up  to  the  bed  where  Melitta  was  sitting.  But  the  groan 
had  not  been  one  of  pain  ;  it  was  the  deep  breathing 
of  a  breath  which  had  been  relieved  of  an  unbearable 
burden.  What  Franz  hadbeen  foretold  had  happened 
now — the  pain  had  left  him,  and  with  it  the  last  hope 
of  life. 

As  long  as  the  pain  of  the  torn  intestines  had  raged 
within  him  the  mind  of  the  poor  sufferer  had  been  sunk 
in  an  abyss  of  horror,  amid  hideous  masks  that  stared  at 
him  through  hollow  eyes,  amid  monsters  that  tore  him 
with  their  sharp  teeth,  and  dead  men  who  glided  by 
wrapped  in  their  winding  Sheets,  and  displaying  as  they 
turned  some  sweet  faces  that  had  been  dear  to  him. 
And  the  abyss  had  grown  still  darker — he  had  been 
driven  through  narrow  crevices,  pursued  by  demoniac 
howls  which  re-echoed  fearfully  from  the  bare  rocky 
walls,  and  the  hot  breath  of  hell  all  around  him.  Then 
he  heard  a  voice  calling,  Oswald  !  Oswald  !  And  at  the 
silvery  sound  of  this  dear  soft  voice  all  the  masks  and 
monsters  had  vanished  and  the  howling  of  demons  had 
ceased.  The  hot,  narrow  passages  widened  into  lofty, 
airy  halls  which  began  to  sway  gently  to  and  fro,  so 
that  there  were  no  longer  arches  of  stone  but  the  majes- 
tic tops  of  venerable,  giant  trees,  with  merrily  singing 
birds  skipping  tlirough  tlic  green  foliage,  and  here  and 
there  golden  rays  of  the  sun.     And  again  the  voice  called 


Through  Night  to  Light.  567 

Oswald !  Oswald !  and  he  flew  towards  the  sound, 
through  the  dark  shady  woods,  over  mossy  ground, 
through  which  silvery  veins  of  water  were  playing. 
And  it  grew  lighter  and  lighter  around  him  ;  his  eye  saw 
beyond  the  cool  twilight,  which  felt  so  sweet  and  pleas- 
ant to  him,  a  land  full  of  blooming  life,  of  golden  har- 
vests, and  smiling  sunshine.  And  as  his  eye  eagerly 
drew  in  the  unaccustomed  sight  there  came  floating 
over  the  flowery  fields  and  the  ripening  wheat-fields  two 
lofty,  beautiful  forms.  At  first  he  did  not  know  them, 
but  as  they  came  nearer  he  recognized  both.  They 
were  Oldenburg  and  Melitta ;  and  he  stretched  out  his 
arms  towards  them  and  said  :  "  You  dear  and  good  ones  ! 
can  you  forgive  me  .''" 

Then  they  bent  over  him,  and  he  felt  their  kisses  on 
his  lips.  He  would  have  wept  aloud  with  blissful  de- 
light, but  he  could  not.  Sweet  weariness  flowed  through 
his  limbs.  He  wanted  to  open  his  eyes,  but  a  dear  warm 
hand  softly  closed  them  ;  the  land  of  harvests  and  sun- 
shine faded  away,  the  lofty  forms  floated  back  into  soft 
mists,  the  woods  sounded  louder,  he  was  drawn  back 
again  into  the  cool  twilight,  and  then  it  was  night — 

aboriginal,  eternal  night. 

****** 

And  once  more  the  spring  sun  has  risen  twice,  and 
once  more  the  immense  city  wears  a  festive  air ;  but  the 
color  of  this  solemnity  is  that  of  mourning,  for  the  feast 
they  celebrate  is  the  feast  of  the  dead. 

Black  banners  are  waving  from  the  towers  and  para- 
pets of  the  royal  palace  ;  mourning  crape  is  floating 
from  all  the  windows  ;  crape  is  seen  on  the  bonnets  of 
ladies  and  on  the  hats  of  men,  on  the  arms  of  countless 
numbers,  who  are  all  making  tlieir  way  towards  the 
beautiful  open  square  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  where, 
amid  temples  bathed  in  the  rays  of  tiie  noon-day  sun, 
the  coffins  of  all  the  victims  of  that  night  of  terror  are 
standing  on  a  huge  platform.  One  hundred  and  eighty- 
seven  coffins,  some  containing  women  and  children, 
innocent  flowers,  that  fell  under  the  pitiless  scythe  when 
the  grim  mowers  of  the  bloody  harvest  were  reaping  tlie 
field  on  which  the  seed  of  liberty  was  to  have  ripened. 


568  Through  Night  to  Light. 

And  even  this  did  not  complete  the  bloody  harvest.  The 
hospitals,  as  well  as  numberless  private  houses,  had  be- 
sides their  wounded  men,  many  of  whom  were  never  to 
see  the  golden  day  of  freedom. 

And  now  the  bells  begin  to  toll  solemnly  on  all  the 
steeples — the  same  bells  wliich  in  the  night  of  the  bar- 
ricade had  rang  the  alarm. 

The  church  ceremonies  are  ended.  The  procession  is 
in  motion.  A  procession  such  as  that  city  had  never 
seen;  such  as  the  world's  history  perhaps  never  recorded. 

In  endless  length  the  coffins  with  their  rich  loads  of 
flowers  are  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  citizens,  and  twen- 
ty thousand  men  of  every  age  and  every  rank  form  the 
escort.  On  every  coffin  is  a  paper  with  the  name  of  the 
deceased.  Unmeaning  names  !  Who  was  Oswald  Stein } 
Who  was  Eberhard  Wolfgang  Berger.'' 

What  is  there  in  a  name .''  What  matters  it  who  they 
were  in  life .''  what  they  did  and  suffered,  blundered  and 
sinned,  desired  and  failed  to  achieve  "i  All  desires  are 
crowned,  all  sins  are  expiated,  by  their  dying  for  free- 
dom. This  was  felt  by  the  hundred  thousands  who 
stood  on  both  sides  of  the  streets  through  which  the  pro- 
cession moved,  reverently  baring  their  heads  before  every 
coffin. 

And  thus  the  endless  procession  moves  slowly  in  silent, 
solemn  stillness  to  its  destination,  a  high  hill  at  one  of 
the  gates  of  the  city,  where  the  men  of  the  barricades 
have  on  the  day  before  dug  out  an  immense  square  hole. 
The  procession  enters  the  cutting.  The  bearers  quietly 
set  down  the  coffins  and  move  on,  and  so  the  others,  till 
the  whole  procession  has  passed  out  again. 

And  the  thousands  are  standing  around  in  solemn 
silence.  Guns  are  fired  and  a  whole  nation  prays  at  the 
graves  of  its  martyrs. 

For  whom  .'' 

For  the  dead  .'' 

They  need  their  pious  wishes  no  longer  in  their  cool 
resting  places,  in  their  eternal  sleep. 

But  tlie  living.? 

Their  lot  is  not  worse,  but  harder.  They  must  work 
and  be  useful  in  the  hot  dust  of  every  day's  life,  without 


Throuzh  Ni^ht  to  Lizht. 


569 


rest  or  repose,  for  tyranny  never  sleeps.  They  must 
Avork  and  watch,  lest  the  night  come  once  more  in  wliich 
the  brave  feel  sad  and  the  wicked  delight ;  that  night  full 
of  romantic  masks  and  fantastic  spectres  ;  that  night  so 
poor  in  sound,  strong  men,  and  so  rich  in  problematic 
characters ;  that  long,  wretched  night,  out  of  which 
only  the  thunderstorm  of  revolution  can  lead  through 
a  bloody  dawn  to  freedom  and  to  light. 


fUHIVBRSITT 


THE   END. 


I 


12 


I 


i 


-3    ^ 


20 


CQ3l37bb'=13 


This  vcj-umc  preserved 
with  funding  trom  the 
National  Endcv?ment  for 
the  Hamanities,  1990. 


